


Any Port In A Storm

by saddle_tramp



Series: Sea Change [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-Canon, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: Once upon a time, Flint was feeling very alone, but he wasn't the only one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was working on writing something else and a bit of backstory between Flint and Vane was mentioned by one of the characters and then it kept poking at my brain. It wouldn't go away, so I wrote a snippet that ended up being chapter one of this. I intended it as part of _'Here There Be Dragons'_ at first, but by the end of the second chapter it was starting to feel like its own story, and I'd rather find out where it wants to go than try to 'fix' it to make it fit that 'verse, or even to fit canon perfectly.
> 
> This happened years before Flint and Silver met, even before Vane met Rackham, when Vane was just a young deckhand on Teach's flagship who was tired of taking orders and looking for a way out.

~*~*~*~

 

Flint dropped a few coins on the table by his empty plate, grabbing the half-empty bottle of rum as he stood to head for the door. There weren't any of his crew around at the moment, but that was no real surprise. Most of them had headed straight for the brothels the moment Flint turned them loose and he seriously doubted that they had left yet.

Flint spotted Scott at a table on his way out of the tavern and detoured to walk over to it, pausing next to Scott as he murmured, "Send someone for me if my men cause any trouble for you."

"I will, Captain," Scott replied just as quietly, glancing up from his own dinner. He smiled at Flint, adding, "I doubt they will be a problem, though. You are the only one from the _Walrus_ I've seen in hours. I would wager most of them are at Noonan's, unless they can't afford his prices."

Flint smiled slightly. "Tonight they can all afford a week or more with his ladies, so I am quite certain you would win." He grinned suddenly. "I don't care if they cause _him_ trouble, though." Scott laughed and Flint tipped his head to him. "Good night."

"Good night, Captain," Scott replied, smiling. "And thank you. Seventeen of my people owe their very lives to you tonight."

"No need to thank me," Flint murmured, his grin already faded to a smile. "Our take on that ship more than paid for the whole journey, making the other two we found along the way pure profit." He reached out to pat Scott's shoulder. "Let me know if you hear of another like it, my friend."

"I will, Captain," Scott promised, still smiling.

Flint nodded again and then continued out of the tavern to walk down the street towards the beach as his smile faded away, barely noticing the way people stepped out of his way as soon as they saw his face. Their most recent voyage had been quite profitable, neatly plundering two Spanish galleons and a Dutch merchantman, but word was already circulating that his men had killed the entire crew of one of the Spanish ships after discovering the condition of the slaves in the hold. They had left the ship adrift in a major trade route with the dead crew still on deck and a warning in the log in English and Spanish that slavers who starved their cargo would receive no quarter. Scott had met them at an isolated cove on the far side of the island with a sloop and a dozen men to take over care of the surviving slaves, and by the time the _Walrus_ was at anchor in Nassau harbor and her crew was ashore, Scott was back in the tavern as if nothing had happened.

Flint followed the street all the way to the beach, stopping near the high tide line to look out over the moonlit water towards his ship. There were few people on the beach that time of night, though he could still hear the sounds of the never-ending party going on in town behind him, and for a moment he wished wistfully that he was somewhere else. He didn't mind the din of Nassau most of the time, but that night he was wishing for a little peace and quiet, far from other people. If he didn't have so much to do the next day, he probably would have borrowed a horse and ridden out to spend a few hours or even the entire night alone on one of the more isolated beaches. It wasn't something he was able to do often, but he loved it for the simple reason that when he was alone he could just be himself, not the implacable Captain his men respected so much or the idealistic young Lieutenant that Miranda still expected him to be even though he barely remembered that version of himself most days.

There were a dozen ships at anchor in the harbor that night, most allied to Teach, and he wondered not for the first time why so many followed the man. Teach had connections that sent him word of particularly rich traders regularly, but with so many looking to him for direction he seldom found enough plunder to go around. Teach seemed to be a decent man as pirates went, it was true, and he tried to do right by the men who were loyal to him, but each ship still got a much smaller share of the spoils than they would have sailing alone. Flint had heard men muttering about how prosperous his own crew was in comparison to most who sailed for Teach, wishing they did as well, yet he hadn't had anyone ask to sail for him the way people wanted to sail under Teach's direction.

Flint had managed to stay on Teach's good side so far, but he had no illusions about how long that would last. He had sources of his own, friends and former crewmates who worked in various harbors, and his crew had made a name for themselves already as one of the most successful crews sailing on the account. Flint never had to worry about money, secure in the knowledge that while the crew might waste every coin they got on women and rum, the largest portion of his own share of the spoils was safely tucked away in the root cellar under Miranda's house a half-hour's ride inland. He kept only enough on the _Walrus_ to comfortably resupply it should something happen to the supplies bought with the ship's share of the spoils.

Flint stood there gazing out at the water for a long while before he finally turned away to walk towards the cluster of tents farther down the beach that belonged to him and his crew, a smaller version of his flag waving in the breeze over them. The wind had kicked up quite a bit since he went to the tavern to find some dinner, and as he approached the tents he hoped it wouldn't bring with it another of the storms that so often ravaged the area.

Flint had just reached the edge of the _Walrus_ camp when Joshua stepped out of the shadows, moving close as he murmured softly, "All is quiet, Captain. Most of the men have not yet returned."

"I'll be surprised if they do," Flint replied with a slight smile.

"So will I," Joshua admitted with a sudden grin, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth that were more fangs than anything else.

Flint snorted softly and asked, "Do you ever take those things out anymore?"

"Only for the ladies, Captain," Joshua responded, still grinning that nightmarish grin.

Flint laughed and started walking towards his tent again as he said, "So never then."

Joshua laughed and faded back into the shadows as he murmured just loud enough for Flint to hear, "More often than you."

Flint chuckled softly and continued walking, sure that much was true. He hadn't had anyone in his bed in most of a year and expected that trend to continue. He could have found himself a woman in any port easily enough, of course, but he had decided not to even try that again. He had spent nearly two years attempting to make sex with a woman matter to him a tenth as much as a kiss from Thomas had, and even Miranda could not compare. He loved her dearly, but what he felt for her wasn't enough to let him fool himself into believing that he truly wanted her. He _could_ have sex with her and did on the rare occasion that she asked it of him, but after the last time he wasn't sure she ever would again. It had left them both in tears afterwards, missing Thomas so much it was worse than any physical pain Flint had ever known.

Flint ducked into his darkened tent when he reached it, moving towards the low pile of blankets at the back of the tent that was his bed, but he had only taken a few steps before he stopped, his free hand moving to his pistol. "Who is here? Reveal yourself, or I will simply kill you and be done with it."

There was a soft, familiar laugh and then Miranda murmured, "Surely you wouldn't murder a _lady_ , James."

Flint relaxed again with a soft snort, his lips curving in a slight smile as he turned towards his table. "Well, not you at any rate. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so late at night, might I ask?" He put his rum on the table and then sat down in the extra chair, still not really able to see much but not wanting to bother with the light. He loved her, but that particular night he hoped she wouldn't stay long so he could have a little peace.

"I came to see how you are doing," Miranda replied, sounding a bit amused. "Do you intend us to sit here in the dark?"

"Do we need a light?" Flint asked, settling back to sprawl comfortably in the chair and ignoring the way the wood creaked. "I haven't any books for you this trip."

"Do you not wish to see me?" Miranda asked softly.

"I could never forget your lovely face, Miranda," Flint said gently. "If you wish a lamp lit, I will, but it would only advertise your presence here. I don't bother with a light at night when I am alone."

Miranda let out a soft huff of a laugh, but he could tell she wasn't truly amused. "I suppose you needn't bother, then." She fell silent a few moments and then asked quietly, "Did you intend to see me this trip?"

Flint didn't answer for a moment, sure it would upset her, but he finally admitted, "No. We're in port for only two days and there's much to be done to ready the ship to set sail again. At Saint Augustine I got word of a fat merchant ship heading for Havana and then to Cartagena. She may pass to the west of here while we're ashore if the winds have been especially favorable for her, but we'll catch up easily enough."

Miranda was silent for a few minutes and then asked abruptly, "Don't you ever want to do anything other than sailing, James? Something other than plundering unwary merchants?"

Flint blinked, surprised. "What else would I do?" he asked quietly, a little confused.

"Enjoy yourself, perhaps?" Miranda replied. "I fear you've forgotten how to do that unless you're _killing_ people."

Flint looked down, barely able to see the shine of the rings on his left hand as he ran his fingertips along the edge of the table. "I have little to be happy about these days other than successfully sacking a ship. Killing is a necessary part of that, though not so often as rumor would have you believe."

"Often enough," Miranda said. " _Too_ often. I fear it has changed you, my love."

Flint flinched slightly. "Don't call me that. We both know it isn't true."

Miranda moved, her hands sliding across the small table to feel for his, then she held onto his hand tightly as she said, "Other men may warm my bed, but you are the only _love_ I have left in this world."

Flint closed his eyes, turning his hand over to hold on to hers. "And you for me, but it _was_ you who first said that our love for each other is not what either of us had for him, and you were right." He opened his eyes again, looking towards her shadowy shape across the table. "I would give anything to change myself to suit you, but I have tried and I cannot. I love you dearly, but I simply don't have it in me to be what you want or need."

"You think I don't know that by now?" Miranda half-asked sharply. She let go of his hand, standing and turning away towards the side of his tent. "If I can't be what _you_ need, then you should find someone who can. I have friends who help ease my loneliness, and I cannot help but believe that your ... quality of life would be _vastly_ improved if you did as well."

Flint sighed and looked down again. "It is not so easy for me."

Miranda whirled around in a rustle of fabric. "How can you know that when you will not even _try_?" she asked, no longer trying so hard to be quiet. "You have walled yourself away so thoroughly that it's _changing_ you. Can't you see that?"

"Wanting my loneliness to end will not make it so," Flint said firmly. "If it could, he would be here now, lecturing us both for how we have dealt with his loss."

"You dare disapprove of how I have dealt with his loss?" Miranda asked sharply. "At least I have not begun murdering _entire_ _crews_ simply to spread the fear of my wrath."

"I did not say that _I_ don't approve of your choices," Flint said, fighting to keep control of his temper. "Merely that _he_ would not be best pleased with how either of us has--"

"You have no clue what he would disapprove of!" Miranda interrupted angrily, stalking over to stand close to his chair, her fists balled at her sides. "I have done nothing that Thomas did not _encourage_ me to do for _years_ before we met you, James. It is _you_ who have turned in on yourself and changed into someone he would barely know. Seeing you as closed off as you are, so sure that your life is meant to be nothing but duty and murder for your _war_ , would _devastate_ him."

Flint stood and moved away from her, his back stiff. "Don't pretend you have nothing to do with my fight. You have often encouraged my efforts to make this place into the free Nassau he envisioned. To do that, people here have to respect me enough to _listen_ when I speak to them, and they respect precious little other than strength."

"Even great warriors can return to their homes between battles to rest," Miranda said pointedly. "You refuse to allow yourself even that, so Hell-bent on avenging what cannot _possibly_ be avenged that you have isolated yourself completely, refusing to live at all."

"I live!" Flint said, turning to look towards her. "Death would be _infinitely_ easier than waking each morning knowing that I am alone and will _always_ be so, that I will _never_ see him again, but I eat and I sleep, I breathe, I _bleed_. I get up every morning and I go on!" He blinked to clear his stinging eyes, grateful for the darkness and fighting to keep his voice level. "Forgive me for not dealing with my pain as you would have me do so, but it is simply not in me to be able to find solace between a woman's legs, not even if that woman is you. I have tried and each failure makes it that much more plain to me that I cannot spend the rest of my life like that, not and stay sane."

Miranda was silent for a few moments, and she didn't sound so angry anymore when she said, "You still cannot live your life _alone_ , James. Thomas would never want that for you. If you cannot find comfort in my arms, then please find someone else who _can_ give you the solace you so desperately need. Surely there is _one_ sweet young man on this God-forsaken island who could help you forget your pain if only for a while and remind you that there is still some pleasure left in this world."

"If there is, I am not aware of him," Flint said, turning away. He tried to change the subject, asking, "Why did you come looking for me tonight? Did you need my help?"

"I just wanted to see you," Miranda replied. "I had hoped that perhaps by spending time with you I could soothe your pain in some small way, but I should know by now not to force my company upon you." She turned to walk towards the front of the tent. "Good night, James."

"I'll see you home," Flint said, turning to move after her.

"My horse is just outside," Miranda said firmly. "I can see _myself_ home just fine, thank you."

Flint stopped, standing in the center of his tent as he murmured, "If you insist."

"I do." Miranda opened the tent flap, looking back towards him. "I hope you'll choose to visit soon."

"We will be out at least a few weeks," Flint said quietly. "I will try to spend a day or two with you next time we're in port, if you wish."

"I'd like that," Miranda said softly, then she stepped out of the tent and was gone.

Flint sighed, just staring at the tent flap for a few moments before he turned back towards his table, unbuckling his sword as he went. He exchanged the sword for the half empty bottle of rum and then walked towards his bed with it, sure he'd end up drinking the rest of it before he could sleep. He drank more rum than was likely good for him most nights, but it was the easiest way he had found to fall asleep and stay that way more than a few hours. His dreams were almost as bad as his nightmares most nights, leaving him desperately missing Thomas and contemplating giving up his fight and his life to be with him again. So far he had resisted the impulse, but he feared the day he ran out of the energy to keep fighting.

Miranda could feel someone watching her as she walked around the side of the tent, but she didn't think anything of it. She knew there were _always_ men amongst the _Walrus_ tents, crewmen who had lost the draw and stayed behind in case of need, and she felt perfectly safe with them. They probably would not know her name or even her face, but she was quite sure that she would be left alone among them anyway. Whoever was watching her had seen her leave their captain's tent, after all, and that would make her untouchable. It was common knowledge that the crew of the _Walrus_ liked and respected their captain, but they feared his wrath far more.

A few moments later Miranda was swinging up onto her horse, settling her skirts around her legs before she turned the placid gelding around and started him walking away, carefully skirting wide of the tents she passed to avoid the ropes that secured them.

A man stepped out of the darkness behind Flint's tent, brushing back long hair the insistent breeze was blowing into his face as he tried to watch her ride away. He turned into the wind and looked towards the moonlit ocean after a few moments, his gaze roaming from ship to ship before finally settling on Teach's flagship. It had been his home for years but he had finally realized that if he stayed, he'd never be allowed to be anything more than he was. He had already lost his place in Teach's bed, replaced by a slip of a girl who caught Teach's eye in Tortuga, and his abrupt removal to the crew quarters had made him begin to wonder even then if he should try to make his own way in the world. Several months had passed since that night and he was still working with the deckhands, ordered about as if he knew nothing of sailing and ignored completely by the man he had foolishly thought wanted the same things for him that he wanted for himself. He had already had more than enough of taking orders to last him a lifetime even before he met Teach, and to be expected to go back to that angered him nearly as much as the fact Teach still sold any slaves that happened to be on ships he sacked.

He looked towards Flint's tent again, thinking for a few moments about what he had overheard before he turned away, slipping silently into the shadows behind another tent as he began making his way back to his own. Flint had always had his back, though he still wasn't completely sure why, and was one of the few captains who seemed to feel the same as he did about slavery, which said a lot to him about what kind of man Flint was. If he was ever going to be accepted as an equal among the captains he'd need allies among them, which was why he had been going to see Flint to begin with.

What he had heard that night had definitely changed his plans, but if anything it had made him more certain it was Flint he wanted on his side first. If he could help Flint while helping himself then they would both win, but neither of them could risk having the discussion they needed to have there in Flint's tent.

If he could sneak up outside and listen to Flint's private conversations so easily, then anyone could.

 

~*~*~

 

Flint was well aware he looked annoyed as he walked up the stairs towards his room above the tavern, but that was only because he truly was.

The strong breeze from the southeast that began the day before had changed direction and strengthened almost to a gale by morning, soon followed by driving rain that had made staying on the beach miserable even before the storm surge hit and the high water line began to rise rapidly towards the tents. Most on the beach had packed up long before noon and left to ride out the storm in their ships or even sailed north to try to avoid it completely, but the crew of the _Walrus_ had unanimously decided they would rather ride it out where they were for the simple reason Nassau had women. Before the waves got too bad a dozen men had been sent out to the ship to relieve the men on duty there, and then everyone had settled in for the duration, most of them at Noonan's. Noonan had been persuaded to cut his usual rates for a night in half so the men gathered there who had little coin wouldn't beat him to a pulp and then just stay anyway, and every room in the brothel was occupied, many by several people.

Flint was pretty sure he was the only one of his crew that was unhappy about staying, but he really had no choice. Rations and fresh water hadn't been delivered to the ship before the waves in the harbor got too rough to try ferrying perishable cargo, and he still had things he needed to do before they left. He could have ridden out to stay with Miranda, who would welcome his company despite their argument, he was sure, but he had hoped the storm would blow over quickly so he stayed in Nassau to try to get everything done that day so the _Walrus_ could sail on the morning tide the next day. That plan had been ruined by the fact the people he needed to see were too busy avoiding the storm to keep their appointments with him all day, though only _one_ had bothered to send someone to tell him so, making him waste much of his day.

As if wasting a whole day wasn't bad enough, by the time the dismal grey skies of the day had darkened to truly black after sundown, it had become plain that no one would be sailing out the next day, and likely not the day after, either. The storm was still growing worse after twenty-four hours, and a ragged sloop had arrived in the harbor late in the day with the news that Nassau hadn't yet seen more than the edge of the storm. It was one of the worst hurricanes the sloop's captain had ever seen, and he had been sailing the West Indies for over twenty years. It promised to keep everyone pinned down where they were for days, maybe as much as a week, and Flint was already antsy to get out after that Spanish merchant's galleon. The only good news was that as large as the storm was, the merchant was likely anchored somewhere trying to ride it out just like everyone else.

Flint opened the door to his room when he reached it, stepping inside and closing it behind him before he turned towards the bed and stopped to just stare. He was quite sure he was in the right room, he always took the same one at the end of the hall when he stayed in the tavern, and he had left the lamp burning so that was no surprise, but his bed had definitely been _empty_ when he left the room to go have dinner.

It wasn't empty anymore. There was a very familiar, very _naked_ young man in his bed leaning against the headboard like he owned it, wearing nothing but the necklace that was always snug around his throat and a smirk. Flint had known him at least somewhat for over two years, liked him in fact, but the very last place he had expected he might ever see Charles Vane was in his bed. Charles was at _least_ five years younger than he was, more likely closer to ten, and they weren't exactly friends, though he had helped Charles a few times when Charles got himself into a fight he couldn't possibly win. It had been a calculated thing on Flint's part at first, trying to get on Teach's good side by protecting the cabin boy that rumor said Teach treated like his own son, but later he had helped Charles because he liked his style.

Charles was enjoying Flint's surprise as he shifted to brace one foot on the bed, resting his arm on his upraised knee as he purposefully flexed his muscles to better display his body for Flint. He had been idly fantasizing for the last half hour, waiting for Flint to return, and he wanted Flint to get a good look at just how aroused he was. "Hello."

"Uhm... Hello." Flint stared a few moments longer, watching as Charles lifted a bottle of rum to take a long slow drink and waiting for him to lower it again before he asked, "You _are_ aware this is my room, correct?"

Charles' smirk widened into a grin even though he was a little surprised that Flint's eyes were so steady on his face, ignoring the rest of him completely. "And your point is?"

"It's _my room_ ," Flint replied, still too shocked to really let himself look at Charles's body. He had seen naked men more often than he could count, there was _no_ privacy on a ship except in the captain's cabin, but he had learned long ago to ignore them. It was well known that some men would fuck a crewmate when they had been too long without a woman, but the men who did such things were looked down on by most. The last thing he needed in his life was for it to become common knowledge that he preferred men. His crew might well turn on him and vote him off the ship, despite their success together. "I am _not_ leaving it for you. I'm sure Mr. Scott can find you another."

Charles let out a snort of a laugh, taking another swig of his rum before he said cheerfully, "Either of us leaving is not what I had in mind, Captain." He swung his legs off the bed and stood, putting his rum on a nearby wooden crate that held an oil lamp and a small flask before he walked towards Flint, smirking at how surprised he still looked. "Surely you can think of _some_ way I could persuade you to share your bed with me."

Flint blinked and then swallowed hard, fighting to keep his gaze on Charles' face as he wished all of his body was as easy to control as his expression. He couldn't help but notice the graceful way Charles moved or the deeply tanned and muscular chest that made it plain Charles worked shirtless often. He managed not to let himself look any lower as Charles approached him, but he had already seen enough to know every inch of Charles' body was quite simply beautiful. Charles looked nothing like Thomas had, tanned and lean with sharply defined muscle in places Thomas had been pale and soft, but Flint still felt far more desire for Charles already than he had _ever_ felt for a woman and he was sure Charles was too observant to miss the physical proof of that. "What exactly are you asking me for?"

Charles blatantly let his gaze fall to Flint's crotch as he approached and then looked up to meet Flint's gaze again as he stepped in close to him, amused to see Flint blushing slightly. The man was usually infuriatingly calm even in the middle of a fight, and Charles enjoyed seeing the proof that somewhere under that iron control he was just like any other man. "I hoped you'd fuck me."

Flint's eyes went even wider than before, completely shocked as he repeated, "Fuck you?"

Charles smirked as he lifted one hand to Flint's jaw, a bit surprised at the fine tremor he could feel as he leaned in close. "Yes, Captain." Flint's eyes drifted shut as he shuddered, not protesting even though Charles could feel the hitch in his breathing as the tremble grew stronger, then Charles whispered against his lips, "As a very _personal_ favor to me."

Flint opened his eyes after a moment when he realized Charles wasn't going to actually kiss him, staring into Charles' sparkling blue eyes as he asked softly, "What gave you the impression that I would be open to this?"

"I happened by your tent while your lady friend was telling you to find yourself a 'sweet young man'," Charles replied honestly, just as quiet. "And while I can't claim to be sweet, and I do enjoy fucking women, they simply can't fuck _me_ which is a damn shame. _You_ are perfectly capable of fucking me though, and from what your lady said you need it at least as badly as I do. It just makes sense for us to both get what we need so we can maybe sleep through this damned storm."

Flint looked into Charles' eyes searchingly for a few moments before he murmured, "You can't possibly think Teach would approve of this."

"Fuck him," Charles said succinctly. "Though I doubt you'd have a chance, he likes them quite a bit younger than you. He's not even interested in _me_ anymore, not since I started growing a beard." He let out a soft annoyed huff. "He made out as if letting me stay on the crew was a favor, as if it's a _gift_ he expects me to let his deckhands order me about like a fucking _slave_. I had more than enough of that before Teach took me on."

Flint made a face, disgusted to realize why Teach always seemed to have either a woman or a boy sharing his cabin. "I wouldn't fuck him for all the gold in Spain. If it resulted in the downfall of the _entire British empire_ I might _consider_ it, but otherwise..." He snorted. "I'd rather be with a woman."

Charles laughed. "I do like you." He smirked at Flint. "And as I said, we both need the same thing here. I have only one condition."

"Which is?" Flint asked warily.

"That whatever we do stays between us," Charles replied, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "I'll never find a crew willing to follow me if word gets out I like to be fucked like a two-penny whore, any more than you want _your_ crew hearing you have no interest in fucking that lovely lady of yours."

Flint looked into Charles' eyes for several moments, considering, then murmured, "I will keep your secrets, if you keep mine."

"Deal," Charles agreed. "I don't mind you letting your lady know to ease her mind, but only if she will keep her mouth shut."

"She's not my lady, and she doesn't need to know," Flint said quietly. "She and I have... history between us, but you don't need dragged into the midst of it."

"I heard enough to have some idea of what that history was," Charles admitted, looking down as he reached for Flint's sword belt to start unbuckling it very slowly.

Flint didn't protest, watching Charles with a measuring look. "Why were you out there listening?"

"Like I said, I'm tired of being treated as a slave. I figure if I ever want to be accepted as equal to any captain on Nassau, I'd better start earning their respect." Charles pulled the sword belt free, turning away to go put it on the low bench at the foot of the bed with his own. "I wanted to talk to you first, especially after I heard about what you and your crew did to those Spanish slavers."

"And just exactly what did you want to say to me?" Flint asked, frowning slightly when he saw the scars on Charles' back. He had seen a man who had been whipped before often enough to recognize the look of the scars, but he simply couldn't imagine the force needed to leave lash marks so deep and wide. He moved after Charles without thinking, reaching out to touch one of the dark lines just as Charles set down the sword, and Charles flinched away, turning to stare at him. "Do they hurt?" he asked more gently, pulling back his hand.

"Not anymore," Charles replied softly, looking into Flint's eyes. "I got them a long time ago. I just didn't expect you to touch me."

Flint smiled crookedly, his expression softening so much that it made Charles realize just how completely Flint had still been controlling himself. "Rather like I didn't expect to return from dinner and find you naked in my bed, I'd imagine."

"I didn't think you'd give me time to convince you if I was dressed," Charles admitted as he stepped closer again, smiling again. He reached to touch Flint's pistol, making no move to take it yet as he asked quietly, "Do you trust me enough to let me have this?"

"Yes," Flint replied simply, letting Charles take his pistol away to put it down with the swords. "If you wanted me dead, I doubt you'd have gone about it like this." He smiled. "Disarming yourself makes it unlikely, but stripping naked and touching yourself while you waited for me to find you points to you wanting something _very_ different."

"I didn't think you noticed," Charles said with a sudden grin, sliding his hands under Flint's coat to start tugging his shirt up out of his belt.

"Best you learn now, I notice _everything_ ," Flint replied. "It keeps me alive." He shrugged out of his coat to let it fall behind him and then finally reached out to settle his hands on either side of Charles' waist, tugging gently to make Charles step towards him. "And there was no possible way I'd miss finding such a beautiful young man naked in my bed." He leaned closer, pausing with their lips inches apart and gazing into Charles' blue eyes as he murmured, "Is there anything you don't do?"

"Sheep," Charles replied instantly. He closed the distance between them to kiss Flint even though Flint was laughing, trading one form of communication for another he found _much_ more enjoyable than talking.

Flint's laughter trailed off into a low pleased sound as they kissed, a little amazed that it felt so different, so _new_. He and Thomas had kissed often, and he had even kissed Miranda far too many times to count, but it was nothing like the way Charles kissed him. There was none of the emotion behind it that had often so overwhelmed him with Thomas, but still it sparked a quickly building hunger in him that made him feel truly alive as he so seldom did anymore. He began to let his hands roam after a little while, stroking and squeezing Charles' arse as he enjoyed the way Charles kissed as if he wanted to devour him.

Flint could have lingered for much longer just to enjoy kissing and touching, but the feel of strong calloused hands on his arse made Charles impatient. He ended the kiss and stepped back as he jerked Flint's shirt upwards, muttering, "Get rid of the fuckin' clothes so you can fuck me."

"Wonderful idea," Flint agreed, helping pull the shirt up and off. He dropped it and then reached for his wide belt, looking at Charles as he murmured, "I hope you brought something to use."

"Figured you might not have anything," Charles replied, turning away to walk towards the crate near the bed. He picked up the flask he had left there, looking back towards Flint and enjoying the intent, hungry look in Flint's green eyes as Flint's gaze roamed over his body. "Whale oil."

"That will most certainly do the trick," Flint said with a slight smirk, dropping his belt as he moved towards Charles. He had never actually used whale oil before, but he was familiar with it and was sure it would work as well as any other oil. He reached for Charles when he got near enough, stepping in close to kiss him again and enjoying the way Charles responded, so hungry and eager.

Charles kissed Flint until they were both breathing hard again before he turned them and gave Flint a shove, pushing him down on the bed. "Boots."

Flint laughed softly and leaned back on his elbows, lifting one boot to offer it to Charles. "Getting impatient?"

"Very," Charles agreed, jerking the boot off and then dropping it. He waited for Flint to lift the other boot, smirking at him as he added, "I want you balls deep in me. You can take your time with the second round if you want."

Flint grinned. "I can work with that."

"Good," Charles said, tossing the other boot aside and then moving towards Flint to reach for the front of his breeches.

Flint just watched as Charles unbuttoned his fly, then lifted his hips to help when Charles began dragging his breeches downwards. Charles dropped them in the floor and then grabbed the flask again and looked questioningly at Flint. Flint reached for the flask, smiling as he murmured, "On the bed."

Charles didn't argue, climbing onto the bed and settling comfortably on his knees and elbows. "Come on, then."

Flint didn't need any further encouragement, moving to kneel behind Charles and then opening the flask to drizzle some of the whale oil into the crease of Charles' arse. Charles shifted slightly to rest his forehead on his folded arms, his back arching to display his arse better, and Flint smirked as he tightly closed the flask and dropped it on the foot of the bed out of the way. He swiped a finger through the oil and then stroked across Charles' opening, wanting to be sure both were well-oiled before he tried to slip a fingertip into him.

Charles turned his head, surprised as he blurted, "The fuck are you doing?"

Flint blinked. "Opening you up?"

Charles stared at Flint for a moment, obviously confused, and then suddenly looked away again, resting his forehead on his folded arms. "Y' don't have to. I can take it."

Flint tried not to think too much about that, though it lowered his opinion of Teach even further. "You don't have to," he said quietly, moving his free hand to stroke Charles' back as he gathered more oil on his finger and then slowly pressed it into him.

Charles shifted a little with the unfamiliar feeling, tense and not sure what Flint expected of him as he muttered, "Just slick your prick and go for it."

Flint shifted closer suddenly, leaning on the hand that he had resting on Charles' back as he moved to murmur near his ear, "If you want this from _me_ , Charles, then you'll have to deal with not being treated like a cheap whore." He twisted his finger inside Charles, pressing deeper and feeling for that spot inside as he added gently, "I don't _like_ painful sex, not for either party."

Charles was about to respond when Flint's finger flexed again and brushed against that place, making his hips jerk slightly as he gasped. "Fuck."

"In a moment," Flint murmured with a smile, stroking that spot again and enjoying the way Charles moved with each flex of his finger. He kissed Charles' shoulder absently, lips parted to savor the mingled tastes of skin and sea, then asked softly, "Has _no one_ ever cared enough to prepare you?"

Charles didn't answer immediately, making a soft noise as Flint pulled his finger free and then waiting to see what he would do next. Flint stroked two fingers through the oil on Charles' skin and then pressed them both into him gently. Charles shifted and then shuddered as Flint slid them in and right to that spot, rubbing against it again as he let out a soft noise and rocked back slightly.

"You didn't answer me," Flint said with a smile, fingertips still stroking slowly.

Charles had to think a moment to remember the question, then answered very quietly, "No." He hesitated and then admitted, "Mostly I was lucky if there was slick."

Flint sighed and kissed one of the scars of Charles' back, then murmured, "It is long past time you learned what it's like when this is done properly, then." He began to trail kisses along the line of scar tissue, enjoying the hint of the sea he could taste on Charles' skin as he flexed his fingers again, beginning to stretch Charles' opening.

Charles shuddered slightly as Flint's lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his back. He had never been with anyone who treated him like Flint was doing and he wasn't sure how to respond or even if he should, so he just tried to hold still and wait for whatever would come next. What Flint was doing felt pretty good despite how unfamiliar it was, good enough that his flagging erection was beginning to harden again, in fact, so he was willing to go with it.

Flint removed his fingers from Charles again after a few moments, dragging them through what was left of the oil on Charles' skin and then pressing two into his arse again just past that tight ring of muscle, twisting them and spreading them. He shifted back onto his heels, freeing his other hand from the need to help hold him up so he could reach between Charles' legs to stroke his fingertips along the underside of Charles' erection, smirking slightly at the way it throbbed and twitched. He stroked it lightly with his knuckles the next time, very aware he wasn't doing anything more than teasing Charles as he enjoyed the way Charles shuddered and moved restlessly, obviously not sure if he wanted to rock back and force Flint's fingers deeper or thrust.

"Quit fuckin' _teasing_ me," Charles said after a few more moments, his voice a little ragged.

Flint smirked. "Getting impatient again, hm?" Charles just made a low noise somewhere between a growl and an impatient whine, or maybe a combination of the two, and Flint chuckled. "Alright then." He tugged his fingers free of Charles' body and reached for the flask of oil again, opening it to pour some in the palm of his hand as he murmured, "I won't make you wait any longer."

"Glad to hear it," Charles replied, his voice a little steadier than before as he turned his head to look back at Flint. He watched as Flint closed the flask and laid it aside, then stroked his own erection with his oiled palm.

Flint moved closer then, reaching for Charles' hip with his clean hand as he murmured, "Relax."

Charles snorted softly and shifted to spread his legs a little more, resting his forehead on his arms as he said, "Just fuck me already."

Flint chuckled softly, nudging the tip of his erection against Charles' entrance and then slowly pushing inside as he let out a soft groan and moved his oiled hand to Charles' hip. It had been so long since he was with a man he had almost forgotten what it felt like, how very hot and tight it was and the way he could feel Charles clenching around his cock, and the feeling was enough to shatter his control after only a moment as he thrust in deep despite his intentions to go slowly.

Charles rocked back into the thrust with a soft noise and then muttered, "Again. Harder."

Flint stopped fighting himself and let instinct take over, his grip tightening on Charles' hips as he pulled back to thrust in again. Charles groaned softly and rocked back to meet his next thrust, and they soon had found a rhythm together, both quiet other than the low noises they couldn't quite control and the sound of skin on skin. The intensity between them built steadily, driving them both to the edge more quickly than they might have wished, and Flint was getting close when he finally moved his still slightly oily hand to Charles' erection, closing tightly around it so that every thrust of his hips drove Charles' erection into his grip. Charles stiffened under him after only a few more thrusts, muscles clenching as he climaxed, and Flint was only a moment behind him, letting his forehead rest against Charles' back as he shuddered against him.

Charles collapsed bonelessly to the bed with a low groan a few moments later and Flint carefully pulled out before he flopped onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and still trembling as he reached out with his clean hand to brush back Charles' long hair so he could see his face. Charles opened his eyes to look at him and then gave him a slow smile as he murmured, "I gotta listen to you more often."

Flint laughed. "Would be smart of you, for a fact." He leaned closer, smiling when Charles moved to meet him for a slow, lingering kiss very different from the kisses they shared before they fell into bed together. The driving need to devour each other had calmed, though it surprised Flint to realize that he still felt that unmistakable spark of desire between them that he had never felt with a woman.

Charles was the one to end the kiss, blue eyes sparkling and warm as he gazed into Flint's eyes and murmured, "You taught me something tonight. I had no idea it could be like that."

"It was a lesson you needed to learn," Flint replied, stroking Charles' hair again. "You should be treated better than you tolerate now."

Charles just looked at him for a few moments before he said softly, "I don't need taken care of."

"I know," Flint agreed, amused that Charles had felt the need to point that out. "Making sure that we both enjoy tonight is purely selfish on my part, I assure you."

Charles laughed slightly, surprised. "How so?"

Flint smirked. "If I make certain you enjoy yourself, I think it's rather more likely _I_ will get to enjoy your company again."

Charles grinned, rolling to his side and then reaching for Flint as he murmured, "Sneaky. I like that." He kissed Flint again then, smiling against his lips when he felt Flint's arms slide around him as Flint shifted closer. The first round had taken the edge off, but Charles wasn't even remotely interested in sleeping yet, and he was glad that Flint seemed to be on the same page.

It might be weeks before they ended up in same port again, after all.

 

~*~*~

 

Flint's breathing had long ago evened out and the sweat had cooled on their bodies but he was still wide awake as he held Charles and listened to the storm raging outside. It was sometime after dawn judging by the room's only window, but the storm was so intense that the skies were dark and grey outside, barely brighter than the room.

Flint wasn't thinking about the storm, though, or what time of day it might be. He was thinking about how he had spent the last eight hours. He had been sure he would regret it at first, but he didn't, not even a little. He was fairly confident Charles would seek him out again and he was looking forward to it more than he had looked forward to anything in years.

Sex with Charles hadn't been anything like it was with Thomas, but that had turned out to be a good thing. It had kept Flint in the moment, enjoying the feel of Charles' body against his, the sparkle in his eyes, and the laughter as they teased each other. It had been surprisingly easy for him to trust himself into Charles' keeping for a little while, to forget everything but how good it was to finally explore a man's body again, to taste and touch and enjoy the feel of a firm muscular body that didn't remind him of _anyone_ he had ever bedded before.

Flint shifted slightly under Charles to get more comfortable after a while, earning a low noise as Charles nuzzled his throat and murmured huskily, "Too heavy?"

"No, you're fine," Flint said softly as he stroked slowly along Charles' back. "Go back to sleep."

Charles purred and then muttered, "Feelin' too good t' move anyway."

Flint chuckled soft and low, little more than a rumble, and then murmured, "I'm glad you approve."

"Very much so," Charles agreed, drowsy and pleased. "Haven't been so well-fucked in a _long_ time. Y' did good."

"Delighted to be of service," Flint murmured dryly.

Charles let out a soft snort of a laugh and bit Flint's throat, teeth sharp but careful as they closed over the main artery for a moment in an implicit reminder that even naked he was never helpless. He licked the same spot and then murmured, "Like you didn't enjoy it."

"Oh no, I most certainly did," Flint said quickly, smiling. "Every time."

"Good." Charles pulled back, lifting his head just enough to catch Flint's eye as he asked very softly, "Feeling any better than you were before you found me waiting for you?"

Flint shifted to look into Charles' eyes for a long moment before he admitted softly, "Yes, I am. Quite a bit."

"Think it will last past us parting ways?" Charles asked, curious and a little more concerned than he really wanted to be. He had seen Flint around Nassau for most of two years, but he had never realized before that night that he didn't really know him, that none of them did. The man who had shared his bed was as different from the Captain Flint that Charles had thought he knew as night was from day. He had never even suspected that Flint could be so gentle, or that he would be so generous and affectionate in bed even with someone he barely considered a friend.

"I can hope," Flint replied softly.

"Did fucking me help you forget him for a little while, at least?" Charles asked gently, shifting to move one hand to Flint's cheek. He had heard enough the night before to know that the man Flint mourned was named Thomas, but he also knew he didn't have to say who he meant. Flint had admitted earlier in the night that there had only been one man in his life before Charles, one man who _was_ his life.

Flint swallowed hard, leaning into Charles' touch slightly as he whispered, "Yes. For a few hours there was just you and I."

"Glad to hear it," Charles murmured, stroking Flint's cheek with his thumb as he gazed into Flint's green eyes gone dim again as they so often were, the bright sparkle from a few hours earlier gone as if it never was. "I know I can't be for you what he was, but maybe I can help you forget for a little while sometimes." He kissed Flint softly, then laid his head down again, nuzzling Flint's throat. "Might make it a little easier for you, waking up every day."

Flint closed his eyes, barely even aware of how his grip tightened on Charles as he breathed out softly, "I ... think you could."

"Then it's settled," Charles murmured, moving his hand from Flint's cheek back to slide it under his shoulder to hold on. "Get some sleep. Nobody'll dare bother you this morning with the way this storm's been pissing you off and they couldn't care _less_ where I am, so we can relax."

Flint didn't argue, turning his head to rest his nose against Charles' hair and breathe in the scent of salt and sea mingled with Charles' own as he tried not to think about anything else. He was surprised to feel himself drifting off a little while later, but he didn't fight it and was soon sleeping more peacefully than he had in a long time.

Charles just laid there holding Flint and listening to him breathe. He was used to sex being about getting off and then getting away from whoever he was with so he could sleep in peace, but he had never been with anyone who treated him like Flint did. It had left him actually wanting to stay, wanting to wake up next to Flint later for another round even though he was already wondering if he had made a mistake. He kind of thought he probably had, that it might be one of the stupidest things he had ever done, but he still wanted to repeat it as often as he could anyway.

No one had ever made Charles feel like Flint did, not only needed but also as if someone wanted to make him happy because they truly cared about him, not because he paid them to. It had made other relationships he'd had seem very one-sided in comparison and left him wondering how he would deal with it when Flint tired of him, as he surely would. Everyone did, usually just when he started to think that maybe that would be the time things worked out and he didn't end up alone and confused at the end, wondering what he did wrong.

It took Charles what felt like hours to fall asleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is sure he's making a mistake, but that's not enough to make him want to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I wrote chapter one intending this to just be a snippet of the past for the _'Here There Be Dragons'_ 'verse, but then the story wanted to keep going and decided not to fit in so well there or possibly even with canon if it goes like I think it will. I like where it's going enough I'd rather find out where it wants to go than try to 'fix' it, though, so consider this its own 'verse.

~*~*~*~

 

Charles had taken a room at the tavern when he got ashore, wanting to be sure he had somewhere quiet and comfortable to actually sleep when he got tired, but then he had headed straight for Noonan's.

The _Walrus_ wasn't in port and after two weeks at sea Charles wanted to get laid and eat a decent meal, in that order, so picking out a likely whore was a good place to start his afternoon. Noonan had half a dozen new girls, including a pretty young mulatto that immediately caught Charles' eye when he walked into the brothel. She was pulling more coin than the girls who had been there longer, as usual, but Charles didn't care what she cost him after she walked over to him to press close to his side, one hand already on his prick as she started murmuring what she'd like to do for him. Her soft French accent and very dirty ideas both sounded pretty good to him so he gladly let her lead him upstairs, smirking as he watched the way her rather curvy little arse flexed as she walked.

Charles had just finished his dinner a few hours later and was sprawled in one of the more comfortable chairs downstairs with a mug of rum in hand and the girl, who turned out to be named Max, sitting on his knee when the _Walrus_ crew started arriving with pockets full of coin. The men were grinning and cheerful when they walked in and Charles hid a slight smirk in his mug, sure that Flint had found them yet another fat prize. Flint had a real talent for picking the right ships to sack, not to mention more than his share of good luck, and the _Walrus_ was quickly becoming known as the most prosperous ship that called Nassau home. Every time someone said it near Teach it pissed him off, but even he couldn't deny it was true. Flint's crew was becoming well-known not just in Nassau, but throughout the West Indies for their ferocity in battle and their captain's ability to pick their fights so well they never lost.

Noonan intercepted the _Walrus_ crew and told them that there were no rooms left for the night, and then the crew's cheerful demeanor made an abrupt about face as Noonan told them they'd have to leave. The men immediately started arguing loudly with him, angry because there were still girls loitering around drinking or flirting with the few men still at the tables even if the rooms were full. Gates tried to be reasonable even though he was obviously annoyed, quieting his crew and then telling Noonan that at the very least he could send the girls who weren't busy back to camp with them, and after arguing a few more minutes Noonan finally threw up his hands and gave in. He stepped up on a chair and called to his girls, asking for volunteers willing to return to the _Walrus_ camp with her crew for a little extra pay, and nine whores had gladly agreed to go back to camp, including Max.

Under other circumstances Charles might have been annoyed by the way the girl just stood and left him without even glancing at him. Fucking her had been enough to take the edge off, she knew her job well, but he _had_ planned to take her upstairs again as soon as a room was free. That particular evening he definitely didn't mind, though.

With the _Walrus_ crew heading back to camp with so many whores in tow, Charles suddenly had other prospects he'd enjoy a lot more than another round with even a very talented whore like Max. Flint wouldn't stay in camp with his crew while they were being entertained by so many whores, he hated how loud his men got when they were celebrating, which meant he was sure to end up in the tavern to get away from the noise. Charles had already taken the room next to Flint's for the night, so it wouldn't arouse any suspicion for him to go to the tavern for the night now that all of Noonan's whores were busy.

No one seemed to notice or care when Charles headed outside after he finished his rum. He headed for the jakes, both because he needed to go and because it was an easy way to be sure no one would question why he left. He made his way to the tavern afterwards and headed upstairs, glad that the hallway was deserted as he walked down the hall to take a look into Flint's usual room. He smirked when he saw Flint's familiar seabag on the rough bench at the foot of the bed and walked into the dimly lit room, closing the door quietly behind him. Flint only bothered with the bag when he intended to stay a few days, which suited Charles just fine. The _Revenge_ had just made port that morning, so chances were good that Charles would be in Nassau a few days as well.

Flint wouldn't mind him being there, Charles knew, and Flint was sure to be alone when he came up if only because the _Revenge_ was in port. Charles had made enough of a habit of inviting himself into Flint's bed over the last year that it would be no surprise he was there waiting, and he was reasonably certain that Flint looked forward to their time together nearly as much as he did. Flint looked far happier when they were alone than Charles had ever seen the man look in public, and Flint had never given the slightest indication he wanted Charles to leave. Quite the contrary, in fact, he was always willing to stay a little longer than he otherwise might have if Charles would stay with him, kissing Charles even while he said he should go. Charles knew that Flint had missed sailing with the peak tide at least twice to linger a bit longer with him, and it wouldn't have surprised him to learn it had happened a lot more often than that.

Charles adjusted the lamp on the crate near the bed to shed a bit more light on the room and then walked to the bench at the foot of the bed and started to strip while he waited, wondering how long it would take Flint to finish up with whatever he was doing. They had made a definite habit of fucking most of the night away whenever they got a chance, and he was looking forward to it far too much to want his clothes slowing them down when Flint arrived. He piled his weapons on the bench except for his pistol, which he tossed on the bed, then stripped efficiently out of his boots and clothing, leaving it all in a pile in the floor.

He opened Flint's bag to look in it, amused to find a thick book neatly piled on top of two clean shirts. He slid his hand into the bag to feel around under the shirts, sure that wasn't all that was in there. His fingertips found several packets of pre-measured powder, a small bag of shot, and a sharpening stone, but none of that interested him and he moved his hand to the other end of the bag to feel around there for a familiar small flask that he had carried until he left it behind in Flint's bed. Flint had kept it and refilled it several times since then, and he always made sure it was in a pocket of his coat or in his bag when he might run into Charles.

Charles finally found the flask with his fingertips and tugged it out of the bag, moving towards the lamp while he opened the flask's cap to sniff the contents. He smirked at the distinctive slightly fruity scent of good olive oil, pleased as he closed it again and laid it next to the lamp. Charles had never had any experience with olive oil as slick before he began fucking Flint, but Flint preferred it and after Flint had refilled the flask the first time, Charles had discovered he did as well. The whale oil Charles had been used to had worked, but the taste left a lot to be desired and it absorbed into skin fairly quickly. Olive oil not only tasted much better, but they could also enjoy themselves without needing to bother with the oil flask as often. They had yet to fall into bed together without fucking at least twice, usually more, and they both appreciated not needing to stop and slick up his arse again before round two.

Whether or not the slick he used would last for a second round had never been something Charles considered before he started fucking Flint, but he had learned fast that he hadn't known as much as he thought he did. Flint had shown him things about his own body that Charles had never even suspected, gladly allowing Charles to turn the tables and try them out on Flint when he wanted to, and it had been an eye-opening experience for him. He enjoyed fucking Flint almost as much as he enjoyed having Flint fuck him, and after nearly a year Charles was starting to let himself hope that whatever it was they had would last.

Charles hadn't really known before how one-sided his relationship with Teach had been, but now that he did he couldn't imagine going back to it. Teach had made him feel wanted at first, but being kicked aside for a girl Teach had kept for only a few months had been a rude awakening, and then Flint had shown him how different it could have been if Teach actually _cared_. Charles had refused the last time Teach invited him to his cabin because of it, prompting Teach to claim that he had just intended to share a bottle of good port wine while they talked, but Charles knew better.

Charles had seen Teach looking at him like that too many times to doubt what Teach was thinking when he caught Charles alone on deck near the stern one night and asked him to come to his cabin. The surprise that night had been Charles' own reaction. He hadn't thought much about his feelings towards Teach until then, but Teach's obvious expectation he could snap his fingers and Charles would still meekly go bend over for him had pissed Charles off enough he hadn't been able to hide it. Teach had been surprised by his anger, but his surprise had quickly turned into annoyance that Charles dared to defy him. They had a short, very quiet argument that had ended with Charles telling Teach to go fuck himself before he stalked away, and Teach had barely said a word to him since.

Charles tucked his pistol under the pillow and then pulled back the blanket and sheet before he flopped onto the bed, settling comfortably on his back to look up at the familiar ceiling.

Teach was still annoyed at him even after several months, but Teach was keeping their private disagreement out of their working relationship most of the time so it didn't bother Charles very much. He _did_ miss when he and Teach used to spend hours together of an evening, Teach telling stories of his own rise to prominence while Charles listened interestedly and filed away every bit of information he might be able to use later, but Charles wasn't willing to do what he'd have to do to go back to that. A year ago he would have, gladly so even, but Flint had shown him that he didn't have to just take whatever he could get.

Teach had always treated him like a boy and Charles had allowed it, sure he mattered to Teach enough to make the indignity worth it, but he had finally realized the truth. Teach treated him like a boy because he was never truly going to see Charles as anything else, not after Charles had so gladly let Teach fuck him for so long. Teach didn't fuck _men_ and he didn't have any interest in ever making Charles a true partner that could be his equal and fight next to him like Charles had hoped. No, Teach had just used Charles much like he used whores whenever they were in port, and Charles had been fooling himself by thinking he could ever make Teach see him as anything more.

Charles snorted softly and muttered to himself, "Because you're a fuckin' _idiot_."

Charles sighed, thinking about Flint and how he felt when they were together, and slowly his aggravation faded. He had always prided himself on being smart, but he was finally beginning to realize his intelligence didn't extend to whoever shared his bed. His relationship with Flint was a thousand times better than what he'd had with Teach, but it was still a mistake. He _knew_ he was being stupid, knew he had given far too much of himself into Flint's keeping, but still he couldn't seem to stop it. Flint made him feel not only wanted and needed but also as if Flint truly cared for him, which was a new and exhilarating feeling for Charles and made it that much harder for him to make himself even _want_ to stop whatever they had despite how sure he was that he was setting himself up for a fall.

With Teach Charles had never fooled himself into thinking that Teach really felt anything for him, but that was because Teach had treated him very differently than Flint did. Teach had never shown Charles any real tenderness, not even in the beginning when his men pulled Charles out of the sea, just fourteen and half dead from exhaustion and exposure after he escaped Albinus' camp and tried to swim for the next island. Charles had been caught in a riptide that carried him far out to sea before Teach spotted him, and he would have died had Teach not been glassing the sea idly and noticed Charles drifting. Teach had changed course to have his men fish him from the sea, curious how a boy had ended up out there far from shore, and afterwards Charles had believed he owed Teach his life like he had believed the sun rose in the east.

Teach had made Charles his cabin boy as soon as Charles was on his feet again, but he hadn't openly tried to coax Charles into his bed. He was much more subtle than that, and much harder for Charles to resist. Teach had been carefully circumspect about the way he watched Charles, but Charles had noticed it often enough to be relatively sure of the answer he would get when he offered himself to Teach one night a few weeks after he began sleeping in Teach's cabin. Charles had hoped to make Teach want to keep him around, to give him a reason not to put him ashore the next time they made port like Teach had said he planned to do, and Charles had been pathetically grateful when Teach had given in and let Charles into his bed. It took a long time for Charles to realize that Teach had been the one to give him the idea, and done it so skillfully that months had passed before Charles realized what had happened. Even after he knew, he had still stayed with Teach, still gladly let Teach fuck him, because he believed it when Teach said Charles had nowhere else to go.

Charles had learned how to enjoy being fucked years ago, even grew to prefer it over fucking a woman sometimes, but he hadn't really known how good it could be until Flint quietly showed him, and his relationship with Flint was nothing like what he had known with Teach. Flint was always glad to see him and he was so gentle and affectionate that it was easy for Charles to fool himself into thinking there was far more between them than the friends who fuck relationship they had agreed on. By the third time he invited himself into Flint's bed he had begun to feel like Flint sincerely cared about him, possibly even more than Flint was comfortable with, and the feeling was definitely mutual. It made every time they were together seem that much more important, made Flint's touch affect him that much more deeply.

After most of a year of seeing each other fairly often, Charles couldn't even imagine walking away. He craved the way Flint made him feel far too much to want it to end despite the fact he was still sure he'd regret it all one day.

 

~*~*~

 

Flint stopped at the edge of the _Walrus_ encampment, looking around with a closed expression that almost completely hid his disappointment. He had known the ship got in late in the day, and that delivering their purloined cargo to the warehouses wasn't finished until after dark, but he had hoped Noonan's would have room for most of the crew anyway. That was obviously not the case.

There were always more whores in Noonan's than there were rooms upstairs, though from the look of it the ones who didn't rate rooms of their own yet were all in the _Walrus_ camp at the moment. A dozen crewmen were scattered around the central firepit grinning and drinking with mostly naked whores draped over half of them. There were several more whores in the nearby tents going by the sounds of enthusiastic sex going on, and men were lined up outside three of them waiting their turns.

Gates left the whore he'd been holding and walked over to stand at Flint's side, murmuring, "I know, I know, but Teach has his crew ashore an' they got there first. You're the one said to keep the boys away from the poxy tarts at Rutyer's, and Noonan's place is full up tonight."

Flint snorted softly. "So is camp." He _had_ said that. He didn't even want to know what his men might catch from the whores at Rutyer's, but he was sure that it would be very unpleasant to have on his ship, whatever it was. Rutyer's whores were all women Noonan thought too risky to bother with, and Noonan's standards were low enough that Flint didn't want within five feet of any whore Noonan was afraid to have around. Having one crewman with some unfortunate sexual disease would be bad enough, but in the tight confines of the ship whatever one man had was sure to spread, and just the _thought_ of being stuck at sea with half his crew scared their pricks might rot off was enough to make Flint consider becoming a farmer.

"Yeah, but the tavern is nice an' quiet tonight," Gates said quietly. "Wasn't but one room taken when I took your bag up there an' made sure Giselle has a steak with your name on it." He offered Flint a nearly full bottle with a worn, water-stained label, adding, "The men even bought you a present, felt real bad about it all."

Flint looked at the bottle of Ferintosh whisky, sure it came from Guthrie's own stash for the simple reason no one else on the island would have resisted the urge to drink it long enough for Gates to buy it. He looked towards the men, who seemed to be ignoring him completely and definitely didn't look upset, and then he looked back at Gates. "Do _they_ know they feel so badly?" he asked, lips twitching with reluctant amusement.

"What they don't know don't hurt 'em, Captain," Gates replied with a sudden smile. " _I_ felt bad on their behalf. I'll take it out of the till before they get paid again."

Flint smirked slightly. "Of course you will." He looked around once more, then back at Gates as he turned his back to the camp, resting his hand on Gates' shoulder for a moment. "Enjoy your fun."

Gates grinned and turned away, walking back towards where he had left one of Noonan's new girls, a pretty young mulatto who was watching them with interest. "Don't we always?"

Flint just laughed and walked away, heading back towards town with his bottle of whisky tucked into the crook of his arm. His amusement faded away quickly as he walked, all thought of his men already gone as he wondered if he'd be alone that night. He wouldn't ask anyone if Charles was ashore or go looking for him, but he couldn't help hoping Charles was at Noonan's with the rest of Teach's crew. With so many of Noonan's tarts in camp everyone at the brothel was sure to know that the _Walrus_ was in port, and Flint always ended up in the tavern when his men had more than one or two whores in camp. He was well-known for being loyal to his lady and often avoided his men when they were celebrating, preferring to find a little peace and quiet elsewhere, usually with a book in hand.

Flint walked into the tavern a few minutes later, smiling slightly when he saw how few people were there. One of the local drunks was asleep at a table near the back door with a bottle of rum, and two of the men who worked for the butcher were eating dinner at the bar, but otherwise the place was empty except for the young woman watching the bar. He walked towards the stairs and his usual table in a corner nearby, lips curving into a wider smile when he saw there was a sealed bottle of rum and an upended mug waiting for him. He took a seat at his table with his back to the corner, pouring the mug half full of whisky before he corked the bottle and settled back comfortably in his chair with the mug to look towards the bar and the kitchen doorway beyond it, wondering if Giselle had already made his dinner or if he would need to wait.

Flint got his answer a few minutes later when Giselle emerged from the kitchen with a plate in one hand and a small cloth-covered basket in the other. She walked straight to Flint's table to put the basket and plate on the table in front of him, reaching into a pocket of her apron for a fork as she murmured, "Here you go, _cher_." She set the fork on his plate and then rested that hand on his back as she added, "After Mr. Gates told me to expect you, I had my boy watch to let me know when you were done with your business. I could have done better with more warning, but this will have to do for tonight, I'm afraid."

"It looks wonderful, Giselle, _merci_ ," Flint replied, pleased. He glanced at his plate of stewed potatoes with onions and a large slab of beef, all of it obviously fresh and seasoned well enough he could see the bits of herbs and spices, then looked back up at her with a warm smile. "It looks like you've outdone yourself."

"Sweet of you to say it, Captain," Giselle replied with a soft laugh. "Just beef and taters with bread." She gave his back a pat and then added, "There's spiced apple pastries though, if you'd like something sweet tonight."

"No thank you," Flint murmured, amused as always by the incongruity of Giselle's soft French accent saying a word like 'taters'. "This will be fine."

"Alright, _cher_ ," Giselle replied easily, moving away back towards the kitchen. " _Bon apetit_."

"I am quite sure I will," Flint agreed, pulling his small eating knife from behind his belt and then beginning to cut up his steak. It was a better meal than he would have had in camp, by far, and it would hopefully end with _his_ idea of an excellent dessert, namely one particular young man.

It had been a few weeks since Flint saw Charles, and he had missed him. It wasn't just the sex, though he was sure he'd be better off if it was. He had grown attached to Charles despite his best efforts not to, and he enjoyed the time they spent together more than he'd enjoyed being with anyone in his life other than Thomas. They didn't talk about books or politics or really _anything_ that Flint had ever discussed with Thomas, but they still never ran out of things to say when sleep eluded them. Charles had a keen wit and a wickedly dry sense of humor that often caught Flint by surprise, something that never failed to make Charles smirk, which was such a good look for him that it often led to them fucking again.

Flint reached for the basket of rolls, opening it and smiling slightly when he found a small pot of partially melted butter tucked in between three fist-sized rolls still piping hot from the oven. He split a roll and then poured the melted part of the butter into the middle before he covered the butter and the other two rolls again and went back to eating, savoring every bite.

The food really _was_ much better than anything Clancy, the _Walrus'_ rather inept cook, had ever managed to make even when they were in port. Clancy had a decided tendency towards boiling nearly everything he cooked, and he seldom bothered with any seasoning at all because of the seawater he boiled in. It made for a salty but otherwise bland diet, though Clancy always made sure there was enough to go around. Flint had finally convinced Clancy to actually roast fresh meat instead of boiling it sometimes, but Clancy didn't like any of the herbs and spices Flint had bought for the ship's galley and refused to use them, so the meat invariably turned out rather bland. There had been more than once that Flint cooked for the men himself just to stave off a mutiny over the quality of the food, and he constantly had Gates helping him look for a better cook, but so far they seemed stuck with Clancy.

Flint finished off his steak, though he left most of the potatoes on his plate to have room for all three rolls slathered generously with creamy, delicious butter. Giselle walked over to check on him just as he was finishing the last roll and Flint smiled warmly at her as he pushed his plate towards her. "I would give almost anything you asked to steal you away to cook for me on the _Walrus_ , Giselle."

Giselle laughed softly, pleased as she stacked his plate on top of the empty bread basket. "Your men wouldn't like that, Captain. Women aboard ship are bad luck."

"So I am told," Flint agreed dryly, amused. "Personally, I could accept a bit of bad luck to enjoy a decent meal more often. I believe Clancy would boil even the misshapen rocks he calls _bread_ if he could figure out how."

Giselle laughed again and patted his shoulder. "You'll just have to make port more often, _cher_. I don't mind feeding you."

"For which I am quite glad," Flint agreed, standing as he dug a few coins from his pocket and then dropped one on the table before he reached to tuck the others into her apron pocket. "I expect to be here for a few days this time, the men are due a rest."

"I'll make sure to find something special for you tomorrow then," Giselle murmured, smiling. "There's sure to be fresh meat and vegetables in the market. Perhaps a nice spit-roasted chicken with gingered carrots and turnips? They're easily had this time of year, and I remember you like ginger."

"I most certainly do, Giselle. That would be _wonderful_ ," Flint replied, pleased as he kissed her cheek lightly, then grabbed his bottle of whisky to start towards the stairs. " _Bonne nuit_ , _mon amie_."

" _Bonne nuit_ , _cher_ ," Giselle responded softly, smiling as she picked up his dishes to carry them back to the kitchen.

Flint wasn't surprised that the hallway upstairs was empty as he walked down it, but he was a little disappointed by the lack of light under his door at the end of the hall. It made him rather sure he was in for another lonely night, but at least it was quiet and he would have a comfortable bed with clean sheets. Once he had taken such things for granted, but over the last few years he had become all too aware of how much of a luxury such a simple thing as a clean, quiet place to sleep could be.

Flint opened the door to the darkened room and stepped inside, closing it behind him and moving towards the bed by memory a few steps before a familiar voice murmured drowsily, "Was beginnin' to think you weren't coming."

Flint smiled, surprised and pleased. "I didn't see you come up."

"You weren't here yet," Charles replied quietly, scooting up to sit against the headboard of the bed. He could just barely make out Flint's form in the darkened room, and he watched Flint move carefully towards the bed as he added, "Sorry about the dark. The lamp was lit when I fell asleep."

"You've been here that long?" Flint asked softly, smiling still as he bumped into the bench at the foot of the bed. He sat down the bottle of whisky, then began to remove his weapons.

"Nah, I was just bored," Charles replied, amused. "Want to light the lamp?"

"Yes, if you don't mind," Flint agreed quietly, smiling wider. "I'd like to _see_ you."

"Glad it's not just me," Charles murmured half to himself, smiling.

Flint chuckled and laid his sword on the pile of weapons Charles had left on the bench, then moved towards the crate with the lamp as he teased softly, "Hopefully I can find some way to keep you awake an hour or two."

"I'm _very_ sure you can," Charles replied with a smirk, getting up off the bed to intercept Flint.

Flint put his hands on Charles' waist and stepped in close, obviously welcoming the idea, and Charles lifted his hands to Flint's neck to tug him into a kiss. Flint hummed softly into it, pleased, and Charles stepped forward to press closer as they prolonged the kiss, enjoying the way Flint kissed him so slowly, every move gentle and loving. No one else had ever treated him like Flint did, like he _mattered_ , and he reveled in it even though he was very sure he was setting himself up for a fall later when Flint tired of him. He still half expected Flint to say he was done with him every time he invited himself into Flint's bed, but he was determined to enjoy every moment he possibly could while it lasted.

They finally had to part to breathe after a little while and just stood there together, foreheads touching, and Charles barely even realized he was speaking aloud as he whispered, "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too," Flint admitted softly despite his surprise that Charles had not only admitted missing him, but sounded so sincere. Charles had been the one to insist that he wasn't interested in anything more than sex, but the soft wistful tone of his voice had made it sound as if that was no longer the case for him either. That thought made Flint smile as he kissed Charles again, slow and lingering, then murmured, "It'll only take me a moment to go light the lamp."

"I know," Charles agreed, resisting the urge to kiss Flint again as he made himself let go and step back. He could barely believe he'd said that he missed him out loud, no matter how true it was. He didn't think Flint would use it against him but he could still hardly believe he had given Flint such a hold over him, let him know that Charles wanted, _needed_ this thing between them that had become so important to him. He could fool himself when they were apart, convince himself it was just that the fucking was so good, but when Flint kissed him it always flared up between them again and left him feeling so much want and need mixed with other things he refused to give name to even to himself that sometimes it made him feel like he was shaking inside.

Flint let Charles pull away, moving to the crate to get the lamp and then crossing the room back to the door. He was careful not to leave his door open while he was in the hall, just in case someone decided to walk upstairs while he was lighting the lamp. No one did though, and a few moments later he was walking back into his room with the lamp. Charles was still waiting by the bed, watching him with an unreadable expression, and Flint smiled softly at him as he murmured, "So much better."

Charles smiled too, glad to get their conversation onto much safer ground as he asked teasingly, "Enjoy the view that much, hmm?"

Flint put the lamp back on the crate by the bed and then stepped in close to Charles, reaching for his hips and leaning to gently nip Charles' lower lip before he murmured, "You know I do." He kissed Charles again, smiling against his lips when Charles reached for his belt to start unbuckling it. "Getting impatient already, hmm?" he murmured, pulling back to look at Charles.

"I was born impatient," Charles replied with a little smirk, making Flint chuckle as he kissed him again.

If he was being honest, Flint was just as anxious to be rid of the clothes.

 

~*~*~

 

Flint was slowly stroking Charles' back several hours later, relaxing and just enjoying holding him when Charles suddenly murmured, "What are we doing?"

Flint let his hand fall still, surprised that Charles was awake. He had been still for so long that Flint was sure he had finally fallen asleep. "What do you mean?"

Charles pulled back a little, moving one hand to Flint's chest to prop himself up as he met Flint's gaze, his blue eyes surprisingly uncertain and worried. "This," he said softly. "You and me."

"I thought _you_ were sleeping," Flint replied carefully, wondering what he had done to upset Charles. "And I was enjoying the chance to hold you."

"I don't mean that," Charles said quietly. "Or not _just_ that. I meant all of this. Fucking. Being together."

Flint just looked into Charles' unhappy eyes for a moment before he asked softly, "Did I do something to hurt you? Because if I did, I promise you that I would _never_ -"

Charles cut him off. "No, you didn't _do_ anything, just..." He took a slow shaky breath, looking down at his hand on Flint's chest. "I need to know where this is going."

Flint lifted his hand to Charles' chin, tilting his head up to make Charles look at him again before he said very gently, "That would be up to _you_."

Charles met his gaze for a few moments, searching Flint's eyes and finding only concern, then he finally whispered, "What if I don't know?"

"Then we'll figure it out when you do," Flint replied softly, moving his hand to smooth Charles' long hair back from his face. "I'm not going to get tired of being with you in the meantime, if that's what is worrying you."

Charles closed his eyes as he admitted so quietly he could barely hear himself, "Everyone does."

"I am not everyone," Flint replied, pulling Charles down into a soft loving kiss before he pulled away just enough to look at him. He waited for Charles to meet his gaze, suddenly very aware of how young Charles was as he said gently, "You've been treated badly by people you trusted, I know, but _I_ won't ever do that to you."

Charles looked into Flint's eyes, swallowing hard before he asked softly, "What do you want from me?"

"To see you happy," Flint said honestly. "I would prefer if that could happen with me, but if not I'll find a way to deal with it."

"I still want my own ship," Charles murmured quietly. "That won't happen if I join your crew."

"I want that for you," Flint agreed softly. "I am not offering you a place on my crew. We are both safer if we see each other only while we're ashore, much as I might wish differently." He paused and then added, "And I might have found you a ship, actually. I was going to wait until the  _Ranger_ was in port here before I mentioned it to you, but..." He smiled crookedly. "Perhaps I should now while I can. I get the feeling you're not sure you want to keep doing this."

"More that it scares me how very badly I do," Charles admitted softly.

Flint stroked Charles' hair again, his hand coming to rest along Charles' jaw again as he murmured, "Then I will make you a promise, love." Charles leaned into his touch slightly, just looking into his eyes, and Flint said quietly but firmly, "If this ends, it will _not_ be me that ends it. You have my solemn oath on that. I cannot imagine _anything_ you could do to change that."

Charles stared into Flint's eyes for a long while, slowly relaxing, and then he finally whispered, "You called me that earlier, too."

Flint had to think a moment before he realized he had called Charles 'love'. He felt his cheeks heating up as he blushed and murmured, "If it bothers you, I--"

"It doesn't," Charles interrupted, finally starting to smile slightly at Flint's obvious relief. "More it bothered me how much I liked it." His smile turned a little wry as he admitted, "And then I started to panic. I feel like I'm already in too deep and sinking fast."

Flint smiled, his blush already beginning to fade as he murmured, "If you are, you're still safe with me. I can swim well enough for us both."

Charles smiled crookedly. "It's not deep _water_ that worries me. I swim like a fish. " His smile faded a little. "It's just..." He let out a little huff that wasn't quite a laugh. "This is so far beyond what I know."

"I can't claim to have a large amount of experience with this sort of thing either," Flint admitted, his smile fading. "I _have_ been worried by those same sort of thoughts, though, afraid that I was alone in caring for you far more than I was supposed to."

"You're not alone," Charles whispered, and then he kissed Flint before either of them could say anything else. He couldn't quite make himself put words to his feelings, but he thought he could _show_ Flint how he felt.

He was sure going to try, anyway.

 

~*~*~

 

Flint seldom slept much when Charles was with him, not only because they would stay awake half the night fucking or talking but also because Charles was a restless sleeper, prone to bad dreams that ended with him trying to fight his way out of bed. Flint's own nightmares were much less when he was with Charles, but he had been awakened often by Charles' nightmares right from the start, usually before Charles woke up. He hated knowing Charles was so tormented, and it didn't take him long to discover he could ease Charles into better dreams with careful loving touches and near-silent whispers of the things he didn't dare to say while Charles was awake. He had gotten into the habit of holding Charles close even while they slept because Charles seemed to find almost as much comfort in being held as Flint found in holding him, so it usually helped them both sleep more peacefully.

That particular night Flint had ended up pressed close to Charles' back when Charles finally fell asleep, holding Charles close with their legs tangled together and Charles holding on to Flint's hand against his chest. Flint was starting to think that maybe he _could_ afford to get used to it, could let himself trust Charles wouldn't just stop coming to see him one day, and he had been smiling when he finally fell asleep. He was sound asleep with his nose pressed to the back of Charles' neck near morning when there was a sudden loud banging in the hall. He and Charles both jerked fully awake, blinking in the darkened room just as the pounding repeated and an annoyed voice said, "Come _on_! Wake th' fuck up, boy!"

Charles twisted to look at Flint, eyes wide as the man in the hall banged again, and Flint put a fingertip to Charles' lips, breathing out almost silently, "I'll take care of him."

The door to the next room banged open and then the annoyed voice said loudly, "Dammit, boy, why are y' _never_ where you're s'posed to be?!"

Flint rolled off the bed, moving to grab his pistol off the bench and then walking quickly towards his door as the banging was repeated on the other side of the hall. The lamp had gone out again, he was pretty sure the oil was bad, but the moon hadn't gone down yet outside so the open window shed a dim silvery light that was more than enough for him to see by.

"I know you fuckin' hear me!" the voice yelled, sounding more angry. "Haul your lazy arse outta bed!"

Flint opened his door to point his pistol at the big man who was throwing open the door to the next room, glad that the layout of his room was such that the door blocked the view of the bed unless it was opened all the way. He made no effort to cover up his nakedness as he recognized the man as one of the ones that was usually following Teach around. He was rather sure that Jacob Robards was kept on the crew more for his loyalty and brawn than his brains, but Teach trusted him and had often sent the man on errands Teach didn't want to be bothered with himself.

"If you don't shut the fuck up _now_ , Robards," Flint said firmly, "I'll shut you up."

"Fuck you!" Robards said as he turned, scowling, but then his eyes went wide and he froze when he saw Flint standing there naked with a pistol pointed at him. "Cap'n Flint!"

"Yes, that would be me," Flint said sharply, finding it very easy to act annoyed. " _Why_ are you here making such a nuisance of yourself _before dawn_?"

"Cap'n sent me, sir," Robards answered quickly, raising his hands slightly to show Flint they were empty. "He wants to sail on the next tide an' his boy's done fucked off somewhere."

"His boy?" Flint repeated, eyebrows going up. "I wasn't aware he had a son."

"He don't. I'm huntin' his _cabin_ boy, Vane," Robards said quickly. "He ain't at Noonan's but one o' the whores said he keeps a room here."

Flint snorted. "If Vane were here, I am _quite sure_ he'd be awake by now, as loud as you were. Especially since _that_ is his usual room." He swung the barrel of his pistol to point towards the next room along the hallway to his left, which had the door wide open. "He is _obviously_ not there, so I'd suggest you go look elsewhere." He gave Robards a quelling glare as he pointed the pistol back at him, adding, " _Q_ _uietly_."

"Of course, Cap'n Flint," Robards said quickly. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. I didn't know you was up here."

"This is _my room_. I _often_ stay here when the _Walrus_ is in port," Flint said pointedly, then lowered the pistol. "Now fuck off and let me _sleep_." He stepped back and slammed the door, then stood and listened. Charles was sitting on the bed looking worried and Flint smiled reassuringly at him, getting a ghost of a smile from Charles in reply.

Robards stomped off down the hall as he said to himself, "Fuckin' boy nearly got me _shot_ an' it ain't even daylight yet!"

Flint's lips twitched and he walked back towards the bed, putting his pistol back on the bench on his way by it as he murmured softly, "I doubt he will be back."

"Likely not, but I still need to get out of here," Charles whispered, his smile gone again as he watched Flint stop in front of him. "I should have gone to my room earlier."

Flint reached for Charles, cupping his face between his hands as he bent to kiss him slow and easy, then murmured with a soft smile, "Just go out the window. It's dark enough no one will see you, and the alley's sure to be empty so early."

Charles nodded slightly. "Good idea." He stretched up for another kiss, sucking at Flint's lower lip for a moment, then murmured, "I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Do we ever?" Flint asked softly, smiling. "I'll be in port a few more days, Gates promised the men a break, but once we sail there's no way to be sure how long it will be before we're home again."

Charles smiled too. "I'll find you, when I can."

"And I will gladly welcome you with open arms," Flint murmured as he stepped back to give Charles room to stand, glancing towards the window. The sky was just beginning to lighten outside, and he looked back at Charles as he added softly, "You should go though, dawn will be soon."

Charles nodded and got up without a word, moving towards where his clothes were piled at the foot of the bed to start getting dressed.

Flint laid back down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head and watching Charles put on his breeches and shirt before he noticed the familiar feel of the pistol Charles always kept under the pillow when he was there. He sat up again, reaching under the pillow for the pistol and then holding the grip out towards Charles as he murmured, "You'll need this."

Charles glanced at Flint and then moved closer as he said very softly, "Thanks." He accepted the pistol, moving back to the bench to put it down and then starting to put his belt on as he admitted, "I wish I could stay."

"I know," Flint said softly. "I do too." He smiled, adding, "One day you'll choose your own tides."

"Looking forward to it," Charles agreed, glancing at Flint with a soft little smile. "I appreciate you telling me about the _Ranger_ looking for a new captain. I'll talk with her quartermaster next time I see her in port."

"You should," Flint agreed softly. "Quinn's not suited to be a captain and he knows it. I helped him a few weeks back when he got word of a prize he couldn't take alone, and he asked me if I knew someone smart his crew can trust that won't cause them trouble with Teach or with me. I suggested you."

Charles stared at him. "You sure that was safe?"

"Everyone knows you want your own ship," Flint murmured. "You're definitely smart enough and I _do_ think they can trust you, and that Teach will accept it even if he doesn't much _like_ it. Not many others I could say that about, not without suggesting one of my own crew, and the _Ranger's_ men don't want a captain who'll look to me _or_ to Teach for orders. They just don't want me or Teach actively pissed at them. _Teach_ may think you'll always do as he says, but you and I both know that won't be the case once you've got a ship of your own."

"True, but I'm not so sure he'll accept it," Charles murmured, ducking into his sword belt to settle it over his shoulder. He turned to sit on the bench and picked up one of his boots, adding very softly, "He thinks I'm not ready to be on my own at all, much less captain a ship. Says I'll end up in chains again."

"Teach has other reasons for wanting to keep you with him," Flint pointed out, keeping his tone even despite the fact he could have cheerfully shot Teach at that moment. Teach surely knew that being enslaved again was Charles' greatest fear, the source of most of his nightmares in fact, and using that against him to try to keep Charles in line was simply cruel. "You will _never_ end up in chains again, not for long anyway." Charles looked at him and he added, "When I got word, the _Walrus_ would sail immediately, regardless of what her crew thought about it. They owe me that much and they know it as well as I do." Charles looked down to pull on his other boot, and Flint added more softly, "And _I_ think you will do fine. Quinn's a solid man and was an excellent quartermaster before Kelso was killed and he had to step up to be captain, and he'll have your back if he decides he likes you. His crew isn't the largest or the toughest that makes port here, but they are all loyal to the man and he trusts me because we served together once, years ago. If you can convince him you'll do right by his men and win his trust, then they will be just as loyal to _you_."

Charles finished putting on his boots and then stood, tucking his pistol into his belt as he looked at Flint again. "You're not just saying that? Because of this?"

Flint snorted, amused as he stood and walked over to Charles. "I'm beginning to get the impression that _I_ believe in you more than _you_ do."

Charles smiled crookedly. "Possible." He stepped closer and kissed Flint hard, lingering only a moment before he pulled away to move towards the open window. "Watch your back."

"I'll be fine," Flint replied softly. "My men have my back. It's _you_ I worry about. Teach doesn't have your best interests in mind, and most of his crewmen wouldn't fight to protect their own _mother_ if there was no clear profit in it."

Charles looked out the window from the side, careful not to be seen, then looked at Flint again and murmured, "I know I'm on my own with them. I'm always careful." He hesitated a moment longer, gazing into Flint's eyes as he fought down the urge to tell Flint he loved him, then he turned away to silently slip out the window.

Flint refused to let himself go to the window, waiting for Charles to get outside before he said quietly, "I know, love." He turned back towards the bed, intending to sleep for a few more hours before he rose for the day.

Charles stayed by the window a moment longer and then quickly climbed down into the deserted alley below to start making his way to the _Revenge_. Teach would be pissed that no one had known where he was, but he couldn't really make himself care very much.

If Flint was right about the _Ranger_ , Charles might not have to worry about what Teach thought for much longer.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Flint had known how his morning was going to go, he might well have stayed in bed a little longer.

~*~*~*~

 

Flint slept for a while after Charles left, but then a particularly vivid dream left him aroused and already missing him, far too wide awake to have any chance of sleeping again.

They hadn't had nearly as much time together as he had hoped for when he agreed with Gates to give the crew several days ashore after he saw the _Revenge_ was in the harbor. He wouldn't be needed on board the ship at all, and Gates was more than capable of keeping the men out of trouble, so there was little for him to occupy himself with until the _Walrus_ set sail again.

Eating would be a start for that day, at least, so after a little while of staring at the ceiling he decided to get dressed and go find out what Giselle had in mind for the morning meal. It was sure to be delicious, no matter what it was, and he was definitely hungry. Seeing the book in his bag reminded him that he had intended to take it to Miranda, which gave him a plan for the rest of the day that made him smile as he dressed and then headed downstairs with the book tucked under one arm.

The tavern itself was empty, but there were quiet voices barely audible in the kitchen so Flint walked over to the doorway, pausing there to look inside. He was fairly sure Giselle wouldn't have been upset if he just walked in, but he never did, especially when Giselle was talking to the girl who had recently begun helping her in the kitchen, a very quiet young girl named Asali.

Flint didn't want to interrupt Giselle while she was talking to Asali, who was afraid of her own shadow from all he had seen, so he waited patiently for Giselle to finish telling the girl whatever it was she was saying. Asali was fourteen and spoke only in Swahili when she could be coaxed to speak at all, but that was no hardship for Giselle. Giselle herself had a very similar background, born in Africa and separated from her family to be sold into slavery as a girl even younger than Asali, and she spoke several of the African languages as well as English and French.

Asali had been brought to Nassau as a slave on one of Teach's smaller ships, and was still afraid of men in general after being treated so badly by the _Lyle's_ crew that she had to be carried off the ship. Giselle had bought the girl when Asali was put up on the block, intending to free her immediately, but Asali had insisted on working off her price. Giselle had said several times she hoped Asali would want to stay on, but the girl was usually silent as a ghost, seldom smiling even though she was obviously grateful that Giselle had given her a home and a job.

Flint smiled warmly at Giselle when she finally turned towards him. "Good morning," he murmured, "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Of course not, _cher_ ," Giselle replied, pleased. She gestured towards the kitchen table, adding, "Come, have a seat. There is a fresh pot of _café_ and the biscuits will be done soon, and there is plenty of butter and cheese and some nice smoked ham to go with them."

"That all sounds delicious," Flint agreed with a smile, moving to put the book on the table and take a seat where she had indicated. "Yes, please."

Giselle laughed softly, moving towards a stack of pewter mugs and then carrying one to the stove to fill it with coffee as she said cheerfully, "Won't take me but a minute to fix you a plate."

Flint settled back comfortably in his chair, smiling. "No hurry, I have nowhere else I need to be."

"That's a rare thing for you," Giselle said, carrying the mug of coffee to Flint and then pausing a moment with her hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. "I heard that your crew has already taken over Noonan's this morning, right after the _Revenge_ set sail. Several of the girls were at the market when I went, they didn't have enough on hand to feed them all when your men wanted a decent meal before sleeping the morning away."

Flint chuckled. "Doesn't surprise me. One of Teach's crew woke me long before dawn, banging about and yelling for Vane, so I knew they were likely long gone by now." He snorted, adding, "Though it does make me wonder why Teach set sail so early."

"It's a good question, _cher_ ," Giselle agreed, amused. "I heard no less than a dozen people ask it at the market, but no one knew why."

"Teach isn't one to share much," Flint said dryly, making Giselle laugh. "No one outside his crew ever knows his plans until after he's already taken whatever prize he had his eye on."

"This time he didn't share with _anyone_ from what I heard," Giselle added, walking towards the oven at the back of the kitchen. "His crew had no idea he was sailing this morning either, not until they were rousted out of bed in the wee hours and ordered back to the ship. Robards made a few enemies, banging on doors to find them all." She laughed softly then, reaching into the oven to tap the top of a biscuit as she added, "He never did find young Charles. Robards said for Idelle to tell the boy it's his own fault he was left behind, but she hadn't seen him since before the _Walrus_ made port so she asked me to pass along the message if I see him." She reached for a thick scrap of leather and then pulled the skillet full of biscuits out of the oven, still talking as she carried them to the table. "Your man Gates took all the ladies he could back to camp with him last night, including the lovely new mulatto girl, Max. Idelle told me Noonan was incensed about it afterwards, he's planning to charge Gates double because of it. Charles had intended to stay the night with Max, but then she went with your crew and he left right after she did without paying for his afternoon with her _or_ his dinner."

Flint laughed. He had known Charles abandoned Noonan's as soon as the Walrus crew took so many of Noonan's whores out to the _Walrus_ camp, but he hadn't realized that Gates had taken the girl Charles was with at the time, too. "Serves him right."

Giselle glanced over at him, obviously trying not to laugh. "Which one?"

"All of them," Flint replied with a smirk, making Giselle giggle and shake her head. "Especially Gates, though. I noticed him with that girl last night. She's young enough to be his _granddaughter_."

Giselle giggled again and turned back towards the counter to go slice some ham as she said, "She is just _sixteen_ from what I've heard, but I have noticed before that he likes them young."

"He most certainly does," Flint agreed, amused as he watched her. "Gates can afford to pay double for that girl, but I almost feel sorry for Vane. If he went to Rutyer's there's no telling what he might pick up."

"He didn't, Robards checked there," Giselle said, amused as she piled slices of the smoked ham on a plate. "Robards likes Idelle and evidently the man is always complaining to her about trying to keep track of the boy. He just disappears into thin air and then shows up again whenever he feels like it. Idelle says Charles has a girl he's been visiting, but no one knows for sure who it is."

Flint chuckled even though it wasn't exactly good news that people had noticed Charles disappeared so often. "Likely someone's daughter who isn't supposed to associate with _pirates_."

"That's what Idelle says, too," Giselle agreed, adding a chunk of cheese to the plate and then carrying it to the table to set it in front of Flint. "She thinks it's the Guthrie girl. He was seen jumping off the ledge near her room several weeks ago."

Flint let out a soft huff of a laugh, surprised Charles had been caught sneaking out, though he was glad Charles had the foresight to jump to the ground from another building. "That's definitely a good enough reason to hide who he's seeing. I can think of several who would kill him on sight if they discovered him in Eleanor's room."

"Which is why is why no one has told them," Giselle agreed with a soft giggle as she walked back to the counter. " _I_ think she could do much worse. Charles is a _very_ attractive young man, and quite sweet when he wants to be." She picked up a fork and knife and a pot of butter, carrying them back to the table to put them down near Flint's plate. "And he can't be more than a few years older than she is, barely more than a boy."

"I wouldn't know," Flint said as he watched Giselle loosening two biscuits from the iron skillet with the knife, keeping his tone light and amused. "I've spoken with Eleanor a few times but I haven't the slightest idea how old she is. I don't know Vane much better other than the fact he's a very quiet neighbor."

Giselle moved the biscuits to Flint's plate with the ham and then moved to sit down next to him, smiling and amused. "He _does_ like that room next to yours," she murmured as she watched him butter the biscuits. "He always asks for it when he stays here, says it's the only quiet place in town because people are afraid they might wake you up and get shot." Flint laughed, looking up, and Giselle smiled wider as she teased, "It's gotten so I don't let his room or yours to anyone else unless the rest are already full, and that doesn't happen often."

Flint smiled wryly. "Most would rather stay in a tent than pay for a room unless it's at one of the brothels."

"They just don't properly appreciate a comfortable bed and clean linens," Giselle said, still smiling and amused.

"Their loss," Flint said, smiling as he looked down to cut up the ham she had piled on his plate. "After a few weeks on a ship, I rather enjoy the chance to relax in that nice soft featherbed with clean sheets that smell like lavender and sunshine."

"Yes, I've noticed how much you _enjoy_ that bed," Giselle said teasingly as she gave him a rather knowing smile. Flint looked at her quickly, blushing very red, and she laughed softly as she leaned closer and then murmured so softly he could barely hear her, "Don't worry, _cher_. The secret you two share has always been safe with me."

Flint's eyes widened in shock as she patted his arm and stood to walk back towards the counter, picking up a knife and reaching for one of the rabbits hung nearby. He hadn't even thought about it until that moment, but it suddenly dawned on him that as the person who changed his sheets, Giselle was sure to know far more about his sex life than he truly wanted her to. She had to know that his sheets always smelled of sex and sweat on nights when Charles was also in port, supposedly sleeping in the next room's empty bed. Making the connection between the two wouldn't be difficult, especially not for someone as smart as Giselle.

"What's that you're reading?" Giselle asked cheerfully, changing the subject abruptly as she began to slice the rabbit's hide down the legs in preparation for skinning it.

"It's for Miranda, actually," Flint replied automatically, fighting down his instinctive panic at the idea someone knew about his relationship with Charles. Giselle must have known for quite some time, he and Charles had been having sex for nearly a year, after all, usually there in the tavern, and if she hadn't said anything yet it was unlikely she ever would. " _Paradise Lost_ , by John Milton."

"Ah, yes," Giselle said with a soft laugh. "I remember when Scott had Eleanor studying that one. He quite disapproved of her reading it at all, but her father insisted. I tried reading because I was curious why Scott dislikes it so, but I quickly decided it's far over my head."

Flint forced a smile, trying hard to get his mind on the conversation, not on the fact Giselle knew about his relationship with Charles. "What I read of it didn't really draw me in, but Miranda was rather enjoying it. Our copy was lost before she could finish it, and I decided to see if she might want to try again."

"Sweet of you to get it for her, I can't think that was easily done," Giselle said, smiling as she looked over towards him. "She is lucky to have someone so devoted to her happiness."

"She doesn't expect much of me," Flint said with a slight smile, "so I try never to deny her if I can some way manage to get what she wants, even when she did not actually ask."

"I should stop talking and let you eat so you can go take it to her that much sooner," Giselle said then, giving him a warm smile before she looked back down at the rabbit to cut away both back feet with one practiced chop of her knife. "I'm sure you can't wait to see her, it's been weeks since you were in port."

"Yes, I had intended to spend the day with her today," Flint agreed. "I might have stayed out there several days if not for the meal you promised me later. I'm quite looking forward to it."

"Bring her back with you this evening, _cher_ ," Giselle said, looking over at him again and smiling. "I would be happy to cook for you both."

Flint's eyebrows rose as he smiled. "I think she would like that, actually. She said last time I saw her that she wished there were somewhere to go to eat when she tires of her own cooking."

"If your lady has avoided eating here because of the men and their drinking, then do let her know she is always welcome at my table," Giselle said firmly, smiling wider. "No one would _dare_ bother her in my kitchen."

"I'll tell her, thank you," Flint replied, smiling. "She has few friends on the island, but I think you and she would get along quite well if I can convince her to come."

"Good, it's settled then," Giselle said, still smiling as she looked down to start pulling the hide off the rabbit. "Would she rather have roasted chicken or leg of lamb? I have carrots and turnips to go with it, as well as the ginger you so like and a cask of pickled beets."

"She's very fond of lamb," Flint admitted, pleased. "And she is the one who first introduced me to gingered carrots so she'll enjoy them at least as much as I do. They are her favorite vegetable other than buttered parsnips or those little Brussels cabbages, though I haven't seen either of those since we came here."

"Parsnips can be had if you know who to ask, _cher_ ," Giselle corrected, giving him an amused look. "I'm not familiar with the other, though. Are they just small cabbages?"

"They _look_ like cabbages," Flint agreed, "but they are smaller than an egg and the flavor is quite different. Miranda is very fond of them, but even in London they were difficult to come by."

"I will ask," Giselle said, looking over at him as she tossed the rabbit hide into a bucket and then reached for another rabbit to beginning skinning it. "It could be that the farmers simply don't bring them to market here because they think no one will want them. That's how it is with the parsnips."

Flint chuckled softly. "I can't imagine the crews who make a home here asking for them, it's true."

"Most don't want _any_ vegetables," Giselle said with a soft laugh. "I think the men of Nassau could live quite happily on bread and meat alone."

"Most of them do," Flint pointed out, amused. "The _Walrus'_ cook would never bring a vegetable aboard if I didn't make him, and even then it's often a wasted effort. By the time he's done with boiling everything in seawater it all tastes the same."

"You really _do_ need to find a decent cook, _cher_ ," Giselle said, trying not to laugh again. "Your men will mutiny yet."

"It's a distinct possibility," Flint agreed, smiling wryly as he finally started eating.

Giselle looked towards Flint, still amused, then went back to skinning rabbits. She would need at least half a dozen when the crews who were in town finally started looking for food, along with the smoked hams and possibly a few chickens too, should anyone ask for them. That and fresh biscuits with butter, bread, and cheese for those who asked for it would be all she needed to cook until the evening meal, when some of the business men and women from the town would come in for real meals with actual vegetables and something sweet for after.

Between meals, Giselle would take her laundry basket of fresh sheets upstairs to change the beds and send out the dirty linens to be washed by the woman who did the laundry, though she knew that particular day there would only be one set that truly needed washed. She would change the bed in Charles' room too even though she was quite sure he hadn't actually slept there. He never did when Flint was in port.

 

~*~*~

 

It was well past noon when Flint made the turn off the main road onto the narrow lane that led towards Miranda's home, kicking the bay gelding he rode to get it to move out again when it tried to stop at a gap in in the fence on the left side of the lane.

The bay was quite lazy and slow, and what should have been a half-hour's brisk ride had taken nearly three times that long with him forced to kick the bay at every gate or side trail they passed to make it move on when it tried to stop. He hadn't been on the horse ten minutes before he was wishing for a set of spurs, and by the time he was nearing Miranda's home he was planning to take a switch to the Billingsley boy's arse if the boy ever offered him the bay again. He had asked for a good horse that could cover ground quickly when he hired a horse for the day, and the bay the boy had given him quite simply fit _none_ of his requirements. He would have been better off on one of the Billingsley family's plow horses, at least they were used to working for a living.

Miranda was in the garden when he rode into the yard, surprised but happy as she straightened from picking strawberries to look at him. "James?!"

Flint smiled at how glad Miranda looked to see him, forgetting about the horse and the Billingsley boy for the moment. "Hello! I hope you don't mind a bit of company today."

"Of course not!" Miranda replied, pleased as she started towards the garden gate with her half-full gathering basket over one arm. "I am _always_ glad to see you ride in, this is your _home_."

Flint heeled the bay over to the tie rail and then swung down, pulling the reins over the bay's head and tying it to the rail as Miranda approached. He turned towards her just as she stopped a few feet away, and he smiled as he stepped closer and reached for her free hand, leaning to kiss her cheek before he smiled warmly at her. "You look lovely as ever. Have you been enjoying your puttering about in the dirt?"

Miranda laughed softly, giving his hand a squeeze. "You know that I do." She looked searchingly into his eyes for a moment and then smiled wider. "You look _happy_ today."

Flint smiled wider. "Only because I am." He let go of her hand and turned back towards the gelding to reach for the borrowed saddlebags laid over the horse's withers, draping the bags over one arm as he turned back to her. "The only dark spot in my day has been this horribly lazy gelding, and if all goes well I expect not to have to ride him again." He offered her his other elbow, still smiling. "Shall we go inside?"

Miranda smiled, amused as she took his elbow, letting him lead her towards their home as she said teasingly, "I do hope you don't expect to trade him for my sweet Lolly."

"No, I know you'd never consider such a thing," Flint replied with a soft laugh. "I had hoped I might talk you into coming into Nassau with me for the evening meal, though. I thought we might use your buckboard."

Miranda looked at him in surprise. "You want to take me to dinner?"

Flint blinked. "I just said that, yes."

"Who are you and what have you done with my James?" Miranda asked with a soft little surprised laugh, only partially teasing.

Flint snorted, amused. "Very funny." He paused to let her go up the stairs first and then followed her as he added, "I know it's been quite some time, but I honestly wasn't sure you would be _willing_ to go eat with me until my last visit when you spoke of wanting a break from your own cooking."

"Why did you not suggest it then?" Miranda asked, opening the door to the house and walking inside as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Flint followed her into the house, closing the door behind them. "Giselle didn't make the offer of her kitchen until this morning. I know you don't want to eat in the tavern, we've had that talk, but eating in the kitchen is quite private and I hoped you'd at least try it." Miranda stared at him, surprised, and he added, "No one would dare set foot in her kitchen to bother you. If they did she wouldn't serve them in the tavern any longer and that's a fate worse than death to most in Nassau."

"Who is Giselle?" Miranda asked softly, still looking surprised.

"She's the rather tall African lady with a French accent who has been running the tavern since before we came to Nassau together," Flint replied, surprised as he moved to the table to put down the saddlebags. "You haven't even met her?"

"I haven't been _introduced_ , no. I've seen her a few times when I went to see you, even spoke with her, but I didn't know her name." Miranda shifted her gathering basket to hold it in both hands. "And you're one of the few allowed into her kitchen?"

"Well, yes," Flint admitted as he took a seat at the table, settling back comfortably into his favorite of the chairs. "I often eat with her in the mornings when I stay in the tavern, no one else is usually about when I wake and she likes the company. She and I have been friends for quite some time now." He remembered their talk that morning and let out a soft little laugh, adding without thinking, "Actually better friends than I had thought, considering the secret she has kept for me without me ever noticing until she pointed it out this morning."

"What sort of secret did you share with her?" Miranda asked, frowning slightly. "She works for Guthrie, does she not?"

"She actually works for Mr. Scott," Flint corrected, "but he treats her more as an equal than as an employee." He smiled wryly. "And I did not _intentionally_ share any secrets with her, I was just rather oblivious and didn't realize she must know until she told me so."

"Know _what_?" Miranda asked, still frowning as she moved to put her basket on the table and then rested her hands on the back of one of the chairs. "Just spit it out, James, honestly."

"I have a guest in my room rather often when I stay at the tavern," Flint admitted, bemused and blushing a bit. He had considered telling her often over the last year but he'd never found the right time, and now he'd blundered into a conversation where he _had_ to tell her. "He and I have been… very careful of being discovered, but I didn't ever stop to think about the fact she changes the bed linens every day." He let out a soft huff of a laugh, unable to help it despite blushing more as he added, "She teased me about how much I enjoy my bed this morning and then laughed at my embarrassment when I realized just exactly how much she knows of our... habits."

"And you trust her knowing such a thing about you?" Miranda asked, her frown fading into a closed expression. "Does she know who he is?"

"Giselle has kept our secret long enough now that I doubt she would _ever_ reveal us. She has known from the start and never told anyone or it surely would have bitten me on the arse by now," Flint said reasonably, trying to ignore the heat he could feel still in his cheeks. "And she knows who only because she knows his bed goes unoccupied on the same nights when I have company."

"Who is it, James?" Miranda asked softly. "Surely if that Giselle knows, you can finally tell _me_."

Flint met her gaze for a moment and then said quietly, "My reluctance to tell you wasn't ever due to a lack of _trust_ , Miranda. I am simply sure you don't know him. He a very smart, very capable young man who is quite simply stunning, though he would likely laugh if he heard me say so."

"There is more to know about him than that," Miranda said quietly, her expression still unreadable. "There must be. A pretty face could not hold your attention for long, James, but it's been quite some time since I've noticed the change in you. You haven't seen fit to share with me who was the cause of it, but I've still been glad of the results."

Flint met her gaze, taking a slow deep breath before he said simply, "He _is_ far more than a handsome face and a beautiful body, though few know him well enough to learn that. His name is Charles Vane, and he is a member of Teach's crew on the _Revenge_ at the moment, though he will be captain of his own ship soon if things go as I intend. I've secured him a chance to talk with the quartermaster of the _Ranger_ , at least. From there it will depend on him."

"The _Ranger_?" Miranda repeated. "Isn't that the crew you've been helping, the one your first quartermaster from your time in the Royal Navy has taken over as captain? Albert Quinn?"

"Yes, that's the one," Flint agreed, nodding. "Quinn is looking for a new captain for her so he can go back to being her quartermaster, it's what he prefers. He asked me if I knew someone smart and trustworthy, and I suggested Charles to him. It's common knowledge he wants to leave Teach's ship to become a captain in his own right, and Quinn wants a captain that is familiar with Teach and myself and won't cause trouble, but also won't _obey_ either of us." He smiled wryly. "And while Charles cares quite deeply for me, I seriously doubt he'd ever go against his crew's best interests for _anyone_."

Miranda looked at him for a long moment and then said quietly, "And you honestly think Teach won't be upset one of his crew has left him to become captain of his own ship?"

"Charles isn't just one of his crew," Flint admitted. "Teach saved his life when Charles was fourteen and then he was Teach's cabin boy for long enough that most still refer to him as 'Teach's boy' despite the fact Charles is very much a man grown now. Teach has most believing that Charles is like a son to him, but the reality is that he was taking advantage of Charles' gratitude right from the start."

"Taking advantage?" Miranda repeated, looking sad.

"Yes, in exactly the way you think," Flint replied softly. "Teach was not the first to use Charles for his own ends, but I rather think he will be the last." He paused and then added, "Charles made the decision to invite himself into my bed quite easily, but it took a long time for him to truly trust me with more than just his body."

"That's horrible," Miranda said quietly, "but doesn't that just make it more likely Teach will take his leaving as a betrayal?"

"It might had Teach not betrayed Charles' trust first, months before Charles overheard you begging me to find a young man to warm my bed," Flint replied. "Charles had shared Teach's cabin for years and had no clue that might ever change until Teach cast him aside rather abruptly to move a young Spanish girl into his cabin instead. Charles was sent below to live among the crew and left to their mercy, and many of them _still_ treat him badly even now after over a year, giving him all the worst jobs and just generally making his life miserable because they can." He sighed, as always sad as he thought about how poorly Charles was treated by Teach and his men. "It will surprise no one when he walks away. He has made no secret of the fact he plans to leave as soon as he finds a ship more to his liking."

"Why has he not joined your crew?" Miranda asked softly. "Would you not be happier with him on the same ship?"

"Happier, yes, for a while, but we would not be _safer_ ," Flint replied quietly. "There is little chance we wouldn't be caught together eventually, and then I would lose my ship. A _deckhand_ could get away with such a relationship if he were strong enough, though he would still be harassed, I am sure, but a ship's captain is held to a higher standard than his men by most crews on the account, not given more freedom as many would assume." He shook his head. "No, we are both far safer on separate ships, seeing each other when we can steal a little time between voyages."

"If that's true, then how is Teach still captain?" Miranda asked, frowning. "You said Charles shared his bed for _years_ and that everyone calls him Teach's boy."

"Very few know that Charles shared his bed other than those who are loyal to Teach," Flint answered. "The ones who do know are the same men who know Teach has taken advantage of other cabin boys before Charles and will surely do the same again, and they quite simply do not care. Teach is a respected, sincerely feared captain with enough men on his crew who are personally loyal to him that he will never be voted out. The man could likely bend a boy over on deck in front of half his crew and they would pretend not to notice."

"You are a feared and respected captain too, with a loyal crew," Miranda said, surprised and confused. "Why would his men turn a blind eye while yours might kill you?"

Flint snorted softly. "Because to put it rather bluntly, my men are not scum. They are pirates, but for the most part they are good men who will not support anything that goes against their code." He could see she didn't understand and added, "They would gladly stand by to watch while I challenged a man like Teach to a duel, even cheer for me if I killed him in a fair fight, but if I walked up to him and shot him without warning, they would let his crew string me up for murder."

Miranda looked at him a long moment and then looked down, shaking her head slightly. "I doubt I will ever understand how men who could slaughter the entire crew of another ship would still kill _their own captain_ if he broke their rules."

"You don't _need_ to understand, Miranda," Flint said with a wry little smile, making her look at him quickly. "I understand them well enough for us both, I promise you."

Miranda let out a soft unhappy sound. "I do hope you're right."

Flint just looked at her for a moment before he said quietly, "If I am not and something happens to me, you needn't worry you will be left here all alone." Miranda stared at him surprised and frowning as he went on. "I don't have many friends, but the ones I trust most would help you get out of here."

"Who have you asked to do such a thing for you?" Miranda asked softly, still surprised.

"I asked Gates quite some time ago, before I was so well established with the _Walrus_ crew when I still feared I might fail spectacularly enough for them to decide to just kill me and be done with it," Flint replied, smiling wryly. "Mr. Scott _offered_ after my crew freed one particular slave ship for him that held several members of his tribe, said that I had saved members of his family so he would save mine, should he feel you needed assistance." He smiled wider. "And Charles would move heaven and earth to see you to safety if something happened to me. He's known about you and Thomas right from the start and is very aware that I love you dearly."

"You _told him_?" Miranda asked, shocked.

Flint laughed. "No, actually, you did." He grinned at her surprise, green eyes sparkling as he said, "I doubt you even remember it. You came to the beach to see me in my tent about a year ago now, one night just before a storm blew in that kept everyone pinned down ashore in Nassau for nearly a week. You and I sat in the dark arguing for a little while about the fact I had been celibate too long to suit you and I wasn't dealing with my feelings like you thought I should, and then you finally gave up and decided you'd had enough of my company and rode home alone." He smiled wryly. "Charles happened to approach my tent that night to talk to me and he stood outside listening to most of our conversation. I moved my things into the tavern the next day to escape the wind and rain, and when I went to my room for the night I found him waiting in my bed, naked as the day he was born and entirely too sure of himself for my comfort." He chuckled. "By the time that hurricane blew itself out we had few secrets left from each other, physical or otherwise."

"You spoke of Thomas with him?" Miranda asked softly. "Of me?"

" _You_ spoke of Thomas that night he was outside my tent, as did I, but he heard enough to know it pained me deeply to think of him then so he didn't ask me for details," Flint replied gently. "As I got to know him, though, my pain began to ease enough that I realized he couldn't truly know _me_ without knowing about Thomas, just as I couldn't know him without knowing about his life as a slave when he was a boy or the years he spent with Teach." He smiled crookedly. "Our pasts are truly nothing alike but in sharing the things that made us the men we are, we realized that _we_ are more alike than not and want, _need_ , the same things." His smile turned more wry, though a little amused as well as he murmured, "Freedom, and someone to share it with that understands a deep abiding need to be captain of our own destiny." He laughed softly. "In a very literal way, as it happens."

"You're that sure of your feelings?" Miranda asked, still surprised but starting to smile. "That sure of _him_?"

"If I wasn't, I never would have told you about him," Flint replied simply.

Miranda just smiled at him for a few moments and then suddenly turned away to go make some tea as she said firmly, "I want to meet him, James."

"I was sure you would," Flint agreed, watching her with a smile as he finally let himself truly relax. "I can't promise it will be soon, but when he and I both can get away I'll bring him out, I promise."

"Thank you," Miranda said, smiling as she took down her tea set. "Now tell me more about your young man."

Flint chuckled quietly and then began, "Well, to start with he _is_ young, even younger than I was when I met Thomas…"

Miranda listened intently as he went on, smiling as she measured tea carefully into the teapot. She couldn't wait to meet Charles. She needed to thank him.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking to Quinn again, Flint finally knew exactly how to secure Charles a chance at captaining the Ranger.

~*~*~*~

 

Flint dug his heels into the bed to brace himself and thrust up to meet Charles the next time Charles rocked his hips, grinning smugly at the low noise Charles made. "Better?"

"Fuck yeah," Charles agreed as he tipped his head forward again to meet Flint's gaze, blue eyes bright and hungry above a wicked smirk. "Think you can do it like that again?"

Flint laughed. "As much as you can stand." He suited actions to words, tightening his grip on Charles' hips and thrusting up to meet Charles again, driving in deep.

"Promises, promises," Charles murmured, but he sounded a little breathless as he rocked again, one hand braced on Flint's chest and the other covering one of Flint's hands on his hip.

Flint smirked and thrust a little harder to meet every flex of Charles' hips, enjoying the soft sounds Charles couldn't quite keep control of that let him know Charles was getting close despite his talk. Charles didn't often finish just from being fucked, but Flint was always willing to try again to get everything just exactly right.

Charles pushed himself more upright and then leaned back, moving his hand from Flint's chest to brace against Flint's thigh behind him, and the change in angle made him shudder as the next thrust hit just exactly right. He tipped his head back and rocked his hips again, so intent on feeling it again that he didn't even realize he was moving faster.

Flint saw the shudder and thrust hard again, making Charles gasp as his erection twitched and dripped onto Flint's belly, and a few quick thrusts later Charles was clenching tight around Flint's cock as he came. Flint stopped fighting to hold back, thrusting hard just a few more times before he followed Charles, shuddering through his own release as Charles gasped for breath above him.

Flint slid his hands up Charles' sides, gently urging him forward, and Charles didn't hesitate, settling onto Flint's chest with a low rumbling purr as he relaxed. Flint smiled, his hands splayed on Charles' back as he closed his eyes and just held him, listening to Charles breathe as they both came down.

Flint still wasn't completely certain where Charles had been since the _Revenge_ made port two days ago, he hadn't asked yet, but he had a good idea. Robards had tried to confine Charles to the ship before by simply leaving him alone on watch, but as soon as someone else came aboard to take over Charles was sure to go over the rail. Charles could reach shore far more quickly swimming than he could in a longboat, after all, and he had climbed into bed with Flint that night wet and chilled and smelling so strongly of the sea that there was no doubt in Flint's mind that Charles had decided to swim for it.

Charles was the first to move after a little while, shifting to get off his knees and straightening his legs before sprawling right back onto Flint's chest as he slid his hands under Flint's back and murmured, " _Now_ I can sleep."

Flint snorted, amused as he stroked his fingertips absently along one of the lines that crossed Charles' back. Charles had already been aroused when he had awakened Flint hours earlier, intent on fucking him thoroughly because Charles had been thinking about it for days, and Flint had gladly let Charles have his way. Charles had still been wide-awake and full of energy afterwards, so Flint had gotten the singular pleasure of spending half the night trying to tire him out enough that they could both sleep.

Flint turned his head towards Charles, nuzzling his still-damp hair with a smile as he murmured, "Glad to hear it. I should try to sleep at least an hour or two before I have to meet with Scott this morning."

Charles let out a soft unhappy noise. "Maybe I should go then."

Flint looked towards the window in the dimly lit room, glad to see it looked very dark out still. "We've a while yet before dawn." He stroked Charles' back slowly, adding more softly, "And I've missed you. I was starting to wonder if I'd see you at all this time."

Charles shifted, his arms tightening around Flint as he kissed Flint's throat and then said softly, "That arse Robards had me alone on watch." He snorted. "I was _supposed_ to get relieved yesterday morning, but he _'forgot'_ again. Likely still be out there if Horton didn't get drunk yesterday and walk right into Teach's tent to climb into bed with Teach and the whore he was fucking."

Flint chuckled. "That can't have gone well for him."

"It didn't," Charles agreed quietly, amused. "Teach beat him until he noticed Horton was out and then confined him to the ship, got a few of the men to row him out. Horton didn't even twitch when they dumped him on the deck so they told me to stay with him, but he woke up later and seemed good to take the watch so I swam in."

Flint's hand fell still to just hold Charles as he murmured, "I'm glad you did. The _Ranger_ is supposed to make port today, and I was afraid you'd miss it. Quinn is expecting to meet you."

Charles pulled back quickly to look at Flint, his long hair half in his face and his eyes a bit wide. " _Today_?"

Flint smiled, moving his hand to brush back Charles' hair. "If you can manage it, yes. I have to ride out after I talk with Scott so I'll be gone about half the day, but I'll be back to meet Quinn with you this afternoon if he's here like he said he would be."

Charles blinked, still surprised. "Ride out? Why? Is Miranda alright?"

Flint's smile softened a bit. "She's fine, I'm sure. I just need to get something from the house. I ran into Quinn in Port Royal not long ago when he was having a bit of trouble. Evidently Kelso borrowed money from Gerritson in Port Royal using the _Ranger_ as collateral but he didn't tell Quinn or the crew about it, just started avoiding Port Royal instead of paying the note. The  _Ranger_ was running low on rations after following a galleon longer than they expected and when Quinn tried to sell their cargo to Gerritson, the man seized it instead and would have taken the ship too if Quinn hadn't given him all the ship's cash. Quinn was left with nothing to buy rations with so they could sail, and Gerritson gave him just one month to pay the debt in full before he puts out a bounty on the _Ranger_."

"Fuck," Charles murmured, frowning. "So they're screwed."

"They _were_ , yes," Flint agreed, amused. "Quinn is a lucky bastard though, and the _Walrus_ made port there a few days later to sell off our cargo so we could hit another merchant I had a line on. He found me within moments of me going ashore and asked me to help. I gave him all I personally had on hand, enough to let him buy rations, but he still owes quite a bit before the _Ranger's_ free and clear." He smiled a little wider, adding, "And that debt gives you quite a bit more leverage. Quinn said paying it would sway his crew in your favor, and offered five shares in the ship's take and his guarantee the crew will follow you until they repay the debt plus ten percent. After that, you'd have to take your chances on the vote."

Charles stared at Flint for a moment, frowning slightly. "You want to buy a share in the ship to _make_ them take me on?"

"Not at all," Flint said, surprised. "I want to give _you_ the money to buy a share in her." Charles scowled and Flint added quickly, "I expect you to pay me back, of course. I know you've made connections with some of Teach's sources, and I intend to keep passing on prizes I hear about that the _Walrus_ doesn't have time for to the _Ranger_ , so I doubt it will take you long. She's a good ship with a solid crew, and with you taking in five shares of the proceeds it will add up quickly."

Charles' scowl subsided into a slight frown as he thought about it for a few minutes before he asked softly, "And what if they vote they don't want to keep me on as captain when the debt is repaid? Am I to become part of her crew, or will they just put me ashore?"

"I'm sure Quinn would try to get them to keep you on if you wanted to stay," Flint replied, "but if you don't there will be a place on the _Walrus_ waiting for you, and we will figure out another way to get you a ship of your own."

"Me being on the _Walrus_ is a bad idea, remember?" Charles pointed out , surprised. "I don't want you to lose her over me."

Flint reached up to stroke Charles' hair again, giving him a crooked little smile. "As time goes on I keep finding myself thinking that having you with me more often might be worth the risk. Gates keeps saying they won't vote me off at this point no matter what I do, not as long as I keep finding rich prizes for them, and half the men are so sure there's a spell on me that I doubt they would suspect anything regardless."

"A _spell_?" Charles repeated, bemused.

Flint chuckled softly. "You haven't heard that one? One of the whores told the men some time back that Miranda is a witch who spelled me forever lucky as long as I am loyal to her, and evidently most of the crew has come to believe it's true. It neatly explains for them why I have no interest in any woman other than Miranda, and adds even more to the lies they make up about me to scare other crews." Charles laughed, surprised, and Flint grinned as he added, "Miranda laughed herself into _tears_ when I told her."

"Have you ever told her about me?" Charles asked, smiling.

"Yes, a few months ago," Flint admitted, his grin fading to a slightly wry smile at the memory. "Giselle let me know that _she_ knows and then later that day I was talking to Miranda and mentioned that Giselle has been keeping our secret for quite a long time now without me noticing it until she pointed it out. Miranda had to have all the details immediately, of course, she was asking me questions about you for _hours_. She wants to meet you, as I knew she would if I told her, but I made sure she knows it may not happen as quickly as she might like. I told her it would be difficult for us both to get away long enough to ride out."

Charles blinked, bemused. "You didn't know Giselle figured us out right from the start?"

Flint laughed softly. "No, I actually hadn't even considered she might until she made a rather pointed comment about knowing exactly how much I enjoy my clean sheets."

Charles smirked. "She _does_ change the linens, even has my clothes washed and mended if I leave them on my bed. Saves me the hassle of finding someone to do them, and she doesn't even charge me."

"I pay one of her friends to have mine washed," Flint admitted, amused. "Miranda would do it for me if I let her, but I feel like an arse if I ride out there just to leave work for her."

Charles chuckled softly. "She has you so very well-trained."

"Yes, so I've been told," Flint agreed, amused. "It's a talent she has. Thomas would do anything she asked as well."

"What would she expect from _me_?" Charles asked, his smile fading into seriousness.

"She would _expect_ nothing," Flint answered as his own smile faded a little, "though I am very certain she would _want_ quite a lot the moment she saw you." He cupped Charles' jaw in his hand, drawing him down into a soft kiss before he went on. "Thomas always encouraged her to enjoy herself with whoever caught her eye, and she hasn't ever lost the habit. She's far bolder about making her wants known than I am, and you're just the sort she likes most."

Charles smiled as he leaned into Flint's touch. "But what do _you_ want?"

"I want you to be happy," Flint replied softly, drawing Charles down for another kiss and then moving his hand to Charles' back again to hold him. "If you are asking if I would _prefer_ to share you with her, then…" He hesitated for a few moments and then admitted, "Well, I must admit it wouldn't be my first choice." He looked away. "It would surely bring back memories I would rather not have you involved in."

Charles moved his hand to Flint's cheek, turning his head to make Flint look at him again before he said quietly but firmly, "Then it won't happen." He kissed Flint, lingering until they both were a bit breathless before he pulled back to meet Flint's gaze again. "I have no desire to share what little time I have with you."

"She is a beautiful woman," Flint said softly, searching Charles' eyes for something.

"She is," Charles agreed with a smile, "but I knew who your lady was long before I invited myself to your bed."

"You still enjoy your time with the whores at Noonan's," Flint pointed out very quietly. "You've a reputation there even _I_ have heard about, and Miranda would welcome your company, as I said."

"I _do_ have a reputation," Charles murmured, "and if I were to stop going straight to my favorite whorehouse when I come ashore, it would surely attract attention to who I have found to replace them." He hesitated before he added even more quietly, "But if I _could_ be with you freely, I think I could forget women altogether."

"I love you too," Flint whispered, making Charles stare at him. He smiled, gazing into Charles' blue eyes and enjoying the slowly building happiness in them as Charles began to smile too. "What you do when we are apart is your own affair, but you asked what I want and if I am being _completely_ honest, our time together is far too short for me to want to share you."

Charles stared into Flint's eyes a moment longer before he admitted so softly he could barely hear himself, "I _do_ love you."

Flint smiled wider, moving his hands to cup Charles' face between them as he murmured, "I might not have noticed about the linens, but I knew _that_ months ago."

Charles laughed and gladly let Flint pull him down into another kiss.

 

~*~*~

 

Miranda was reading _'Paradise Lost'_ and sipping at a cup of tea when she heard Lolly whinny, answered a moment later by another horse. She quickly set aside her cup and laid a ribbon in the book to mark her place, then stood to walk to the open front door before she stopped there and stared, eyes going wide.

James was riding up the path between Lolly's paddock and the garden, looking down at the pretty buckskin gelding he was riding with a sweet, fond smile she hadn't seen in a very long time. His hair was tied back and he had shaved since she last saw him, and for a moment she could almost believe he was again the young Lieutenant that Thomas had introduced her to, what felt like a lifetime ago.

James laughed softly and glanced towards her, then he looked over his shoulder as he murmured something, making Miranda finally notice that there was someone riding behind him pressed so close to James' back she hadn't noticed the other man at all. She was sure it must be Charles, James wasn't the sort to bring random people to see her and most certainly wouldn't have let them share his horse if he did.

Charles leaned to the side a bit to see her better then, smiling, and then he looked at James as he said something that made James laugh again. He really _was_ a very handsome young man despite the fact he looked as if he hadn't shaved in a few days, James had been right about that, and something about Charles' smile said he knew it.

James stopped the buckskin at the tie rail near Lolly's stall, looking over his shoulder again as he took his left foot from the stirrup and said just loud enough for Miranda to hear him, "Alright,  _now_ you can get down."

"Gladly," Charles said quickly, laughing slightly as he stuck his foot in the stirrup and dismounted, backing away a few feet as he looked up at James and said something more quietly.

James laughed and swung down off the buckskin himself, then stepped closer to Charles and murmured something Miranda couldn't hear, but the wicked tilt to his grin and the way Charles smirked left little doubt in her mind that James was flirting with him. James turned away before Charles answered him, moving to tie the buckskin, and the way Charles watched him move made Miranda have to work at it not to laugh.

Seeing the way they looked at each other made James' certainty he and Charles couldn't be on the same ship for long without being discovered suddenly make much more sense to her. James had looked at Thomas like that sometimes too, yes, but he had hid it quite well outside the privacy of their bedroom. Seeing James so relaxed and open about his obvious feelings for Charles made Miranda wonder if James was no longer ashamed of his proclivities anymore or if he simply felt so strongly about Charles that he couldn't hide it.

James murmured something to Charles and then started walking towards Miranda, smiling and looking pleased. Charles walked at his shoulder like it was where he belonged and Miranda was struck by how differently they moved. James walked with his head high and his usual determined stride, his military bearing obvious to her, while Charles moved with the easy grace of a predator, looking far more relaxed.

As they got closer Miranda could see James' green eyes were sparkling and bright, and she found herself thinking that she hadn't seen them like that since well before the horrible day that Thomas was taken from them. They made it plain to her how happy he was, how relaxed and at peace, and she was glad to see it. She had seen them changing for quite some time, finally losing the darkness that had worried her so, but even when she last saw him a few weeks earlier he hadn't been so plainly happy.

She turned her attention to Charles then and he met her gaze, deep set blue eyes amused above a slight smile as he reached up to brush back a few errant strands of long hair that hung against his face. He ran his fingers through his hair then, a gesture she suspected was habitual from the way his hair lay, and she was a little surprised to see that there were narrow braids scattered in his loose hair.

Miranda noticed glints of silver in Charles' hair in a few places as he got closer, and then he tucked his hair behind one ear to reveal a delicate silver hoop earring. She saw the black leather necklace he wore had small silver decorations on it too then, a simple cross on the largest in the middle, and she wondered if he wore the jewelry simply because he liked the look or if it meant something more. She knew that some things sailors wore indicated special training, but she didn't know enough to recognize them.

Miranda realized then that James and Charles were nearly to the steps and looked back at James to meet his gaze as she she said teasingly, "I think I'm going to enjoy _this_ visit quite a lot."

James snorted, obviously amused as he walked up the steps and crossed the porch. "Not as much as you're hoping." Charles laughed and looked off to the side with a smirk as James stopped close to Miranda and added, "It's good to see you, though." He leaned to kiss her cheek, then stepped aside, gesturing towards Charles. "As I'm sure you've realized, this is Charles."

"Yes, I thought he must be," Miranda said easily, smiling at James and then looking at Charles again. He met her gaze, still looking amused, and she smiled a bit wider as she added, "I'm glad you've decided to visit, I've been wanting to meet you."

"And I you, Miranda," Charles agreed with that same amused smile, and Miranda was a little surprised by how low and husky his voice was. "Flint talks of you often."

Miranda blinked, her smile fading. "You call him _Flint_?"

"Usually," Charles replied, eyebrows rising, then he suddenly smirked. "The other things I call him, I save for when we're alone."

James laughed, looking at Charles as he murmured, "Don't go down that path. She'll win."

Charles looked at James, still smirking and he replied just as quietly, "From where I stand, I'm rather certain _I_ won, but I'll behave."

Miranda had to fight to keep her smile. She knew it was true, had known it for months, in fact, long before James admitted it to her, but it still hurt a bit to hear Charles say it.

James met Charles' gaze a moment longer, smiling, and then he looked back at Miranda and changed the subject. "I'm afraid we can't stay long, Miranda. The _Ranger_ was spotted on her way in before I rode out and we're to meet with Quinn at the tavern today, but I had to get something from the cellar first."

"Surely you can stay an hour or two," Miranda said, trying hard to put Charles' quiet certainty James belonged to him out of her mind. James had never truly wanted her like she wanted him, but that hadn't been enough to stop her from falling in love with him. She had always known she could never be as important to James as Thomas was, but after they lost Thomas she had hoped for a time that their shared pain might bring them closer together. It didn't, and trying to make it so had nearly ruined what they had built between them, in fact, to the point they were both still recovering from it.

James tilted his head, looking a bit wry. "A little while, but it's a long ride back and Quinn will be looking for us to meet him this afternoon."

"It's not yet even noon, and no more than an hour's ride back to Nassau," Miranda protested, surprised. "You've made the ride in _half that_ many times."

"On the road, yes, alone," James agreed, giving her a crooked smile. "With Charles up behind me, though, we have to go slower and _avoid_ the road." He looked at Charles, his smile turning more wry as he added, "I have far too hard a time ignoring him."

Charles laughed. "I thought you said not to go there."

James blinked and then he laughed too, blushing slightly. "A _difficult_ time." Charles opened his mouth, looking wicked, and James said quickly, "The other is true too, but that's not what I meant and you know it. Besides, you've no room to talk."

Charles smirked wickedly, blue eyes sparkling. "At least I took care of it for you."

James let out a strangled little laugh. "I seem to recall you saying you'd _behave_."

"This _is_ me behaving," Charles pointed out, still smirking. "I can stop if you like."

"No, don't," James said quickly, amused and blushing more. "With someone else I might ask them to remember a lady is present, but with you I honestly think that will just make it worse."

"The closest thing to a _lady_ I know is Giselle," Charles agreed, grinning. "And she doesn't mind my dirty mind or my mouth. I amuse her."

James snorted softly, smiling. "Yes, I know. Especially when you're jumping off ledges near the Guthrie girl's bedroom."

Charles grinned wider. "I knew I was going to be seen, no way to avoid it, and I'd much rather have the rumor mill decide I've been fucking Eleanor than risk your reputation."

"What about your reputation?" James asked, surprised.

"No one cares about mine yet," Charles said easily. "I'm just Teach's cabin boy that didn't have the sense to jump ship when he was done with me, and sneaking out of a pretty girl's bedroom at dawn isn't hard to believe for anyone who knows me. _You're_ the notorious _Captain Flint_ of the _Walrus_ , one of the most prosperous ships on the account. You're a living legend, or will be."

James laughed. "You're so full of it, it's truly a wonder your eyes aren't _brown_." Charles smirked, wicked and dirty, and James said quickly, "Don't say it. Pretend you're as well-behaved around a lady as I."

"You'd have me be a _gentleman_ for her?" Charles asked, obviously surprised and very amused.

"If you can, yes," James agreed, looking like he was trying not to laugh again. "Tonight I will gladly let you prove just how wicked you are and enjoy every moment of it, but now's not the time."

Charles looked at James for a moment, blue eyes sparkling above a little grin, and then finally said, "For you."

"Thank you," James murmured, leaning to kiss him. Charles swayed closer with a low surprised purr Miranda could just barely hear, and James lifted one hand to Charles' jaw as he deepened the kiss.

Miranda watched them kissing for only a few moments before she turned away to walk inside towards the table. She wanted to stay and watch them, wanted to see them do much more than kiss, in fact, but she knew it was a bad idea. James had made it plain he didn't want Charles even teasing her, and this time she was going to respect his wishes. "James, would you like some tea?"

There was a short pause before James moved to follow her into the house as he said, "Yes, please." He walked towards his usual chair at the table, and when Miranda glanced at him she saw he looked a bit wry and sheepish.

"Charles?" Miranda asked, picking up her teacup and then looking towards Charles, who had stopped just inside the door.

Charles smiled at her. "None for me, thanks. I've never been one for tea. Strikes me as scared water or something."

James chuckled, sitting down in his usual chair as he repeated, "Scared water." He laughed softly, looking at Charles with a fond smile, his green eyes sparkling and warm.

Miranda smiled at Charles, amused too despite how much she wished James still looked at her like that. He had once, but when they got word Thomas had died it had seemed like most of the best parts of James died with him. He tried to pretend for her sake afterwards, even succeeded in fooling her at first, but eventually she realized that he had merely taken Thomas' final instruction to them, a plea to take care of each other, far more literally than Thomas would have ever asked of him.

"I have a bottle of rum," Miranda offered as she walked towards the kitchen worktop by the front window where she did most of her preparations for cooking. "And there's brandy too, if you would rather have that."

"I'm fine," Charles said easily, moving to sit down at the table. "Thank you, though."

"Of course," Miranda said. She reached for her teapot and poured the cold tea and dregs in it into an old bucket she kept in the floor under the worktop just for such things, then moved towards a bucket on the hearth to get warm water to rinse the kettle. "What was it you needed so badly today, James? You seldom ride out when you can't stay."

"I know, but I need it before we meet with Quinn later," James replied. "The _Ranger_ is having money troubles, Kelso took out a loan on her without telling anyone and it's past due. The money was loaned by Gerritson, the biggest purchaser of pirated goods in Port Royal, and Kelso was stupid enough to sign a contract giving the ship as collateral so they're in a tight spot. Quinn gave a full cargo and every cent he could get so that Gerritson would let him keep the ship another month, but he's only got a short time now to pay off the rest."

Miranda walked back over to empty the teapot again and then set it down on the worktop, looking at James. "So you're making them a loan?"

"No, I'm making _Charles_ a loan," James corrected, smiling. "Quinn and I spoke about his troubles when I was in Port Royal recently and he agreed to let Charles pay the debt in exchange for five shares in the ship and the captaincy."

Miranda's eyes widened as she smiled, pleased. "Oh that _is_ good news! Is it to be a permanent arrangement, or simply until the crew can pay Charles back?"

"That will depend on Charles," James replied, smiling at her and then at Charles. "I think he can win them over before the _Ranger_ crew could possibly buy him out. He can be _very_ persuasive when he wants to be."

"I will certainly try," Charles agreed, smirking slightly. "Though with them I'll not be using the tactic that won me your attention long enough to get you to listen to me."

"I would hope not," James said with a quiet laugh. "And you'll do fine. I wouldn't have encouraged you so if I didn't think you can handle it."

"Encouraged, my arse," Charles said, his smirk fading into a soft little smile. "You've kept working at it every time you got a chance to until you could practically hand the _Ranger_ to me on a silver platter."

"I believe in you," James said quietly, smiling at Charles. "And I know what this means to you. You talk about my name becoming legend, but one day _your_ name will be spoken of the same way. I'm sure of it."

"I'm gonna prove you right," Charles promised, still smiling softly.

Miranda turned back to the worktop to make the tea as James said simply, "I know."

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Quinn and some of the Ranger's crew.

~*~*~*~

 

When Flint returned to the tavern for the meeting with Quinn and Charles, he was a little surprised to see some of his men scattered around the tavern's common room eating. He pretended not to notice them, walking from the front door towards the kitchen to go talk to Giselle as he wondered what the men had heard.

Few were likely to think anything of the _Walrus_ crewmen hanging around, not with how good the food in the tavern was, but _which_ men were there and where they had placed themselves told Flint that they expected trouble. His most loyal crewmen were scattered around, men he had trusted his life to far too many times to count, and he was sure they were there for his protection. They all preferred eating at Noonan's, where the food wasn't as good but there were usually enough nearly naked women walking around to make up for it.

Joshua was at the table off to the left of the front door with his brother Levi and their friend Lars, the three of them with their pistols on the table by their plates while they ate and talked in rapid Swahili. All three ate with daggers, not their usual small eating knives they used on the ship, and Joshua had put his back to the front wall so he could watch the whole room.

Gates was at Flint's usual table near the back stairs with the boy who had just recently joined their crew, Billy. The boy was just fifteen but already tall and strong for his age, able to do a man's work with ease and much more educated than most men on Flint's crew. Gates was smiling and talking to Billy, who hung on every word a bit wide-eyed but grinning, and Flint wondered why Billy was there if trouble was expected. The boy was strong and smart, but he had little experience with fighting.

Dooley was drinking at the table near the side stairway that led up to the tavern's parlor and office where Mr. Scott often did business, accompanied by Crisp, Tyson, and Paxton, three of the men who liked Flint and always voted to support him whenever something came up. Crisp was just gnawing on a rabbit hindquarter like he was starved, grinning as he watched Paxton and Tyson arguing cheerfully about something, their nearly empty plates in front of them.

Joji was the last of them, sitting near the back door at a table by himself and eating with two of his small throwing daggers instead of a knife and fork. Joji seemed like he was trying to ignore the world while he ate methodically, but Flint knew him well enough to be sure Joji knew where everyone in the room was and who was most likely to be a threat. Eating with his extremely sharp throwing daggers made it plain to Flint that Joji wanted to be ready to kill at a moment's notice.

There were half a dozen other tables in the tavern that had at least one or two people at them too, but Flint didn't see any obvious pattern among them. There were men from several crews there including seven men from the _Ranger_ and two from the _Revenge_ , but none of them seemed to be worried or angry. They were eating or drinking or both, talking with their friends and ignoring him completely.

Flint nodded to Giselle's son Jean as he passed the bar, earning a quick grin from the boy, and then he leaned into the kitchen doorway, smiling when he saw Giselle at the stove. "Mind if I come in?"

Giselle looked up in surprise and then smiled, but her eyes looked concerned as she said, "Of course, _cher_ , you know you're always welcome."

Flint walked into the kitchen, smiling gently at Asali when she looked up from kneading bread dough on the table. " _Hujambo_ , Asali."

Asali gave him a little ghost of a smile in reply, looking back down to continue kneading as she murmured very softly, " _Hujambo_."

Flint smiled wider, pleased she had actually answered him. She seldom spoke _or_ smiled, which made it mean that much more when she did. He made sure not to get too close to Asali as he continued past her to the stove, waiting until he was standing next to Giselle before he asked very softly, "Do you know why my men are here?"

"You missed quite a bit today," Giselle replied very softly, reaching into her apron pocket for a spoon and offering it to him. "Try the soup." He took the spoon to try the creamy soup she had been stirring, taking his time about blowing softly on the spoonful as she whispered, "The _Ranger's_ crew has been talking ever since they made port, _cher_. Word is all over town you're helping Charles get away from Teach's control to become the youngest captain anyone here has ever heard of."

Flint tasted the soup, humming softly in surprise at how rich and creamy it was and the hint of potatoes and onions, then he murmured, "It was going to happen very soon anyway, might as well get it over with. Is the _Ranger's_ quartermaster here yet? Quinn?"

"Yes, he's upstairs in the parlor with three of his men," Giselle replied softly. "He's not been waiting long, though. I thought to serve when you and Charles were both here." She looked at Flint then, worried as she whispered, "Teach has his men _hunting_ him, _cher_."

"He'll be fine," Flint murmured very softly, smiling reassuringly at her. "He left my side not half an hour ago to make his own way in, and he moves like a ghost when he wants to. They won't catch him." He added a little louder, "Do include the soup, that's _delicious_."

Giselle smiled back even though her eyes were still worried. "Of course, I thought you would enjoy it."

"I most certainly do," Flint agreed, still smiling. "I'll go keep Quinn company, I'm sure Teach's tantrum is making him nervous."

"Understatement," Giselle murmured as she began to stir a pot of the gingered carrots Flint liked so much.

Flint rested his hand on her shoulder a moment as he murmured, " _Pas de soucis, mon amie_."

Giselle smiled softly at him. " _J'essaierai, cher._ "

Flint gave her shoulder a squeeze and then walked out of the kitchen with a smile firmly in place on his face even though he immediately noticed one of Teach's men who had been in the tavern when he went into the kitchen was gone.

Flint walked towards the parlor stairs, pausing next to Dooley's table to nod to Paxton, Tyson, and Crisp before he smiled at Dooley as he asked quietly, "Vane here yet?"

"Haven't seen him, Captain," Dooley replied. "Quinn's waiting for you with his Boatswain and two others I don't know, though. Tall skinny guy and a little one in a hat with two swords that looks about twelve but meaner than a stepped-on snake."

Flint nodded and smiled. "Good." He patted Dooley's shoulder and then continued to the stairs and up to the parlor, and when he turned the corner in the stairway and got high enough to see into the room, he slowed to look around.

Quinn and his Boatswain, Slade, were sitting at the table with Charles already across from them. The two Dooley hadn't known were a mystery to Flint as well, though he remembered seeing them hanging around in the background when he had spoken to Quinn on the _Ranger_ in Port Royal, too. They were both young, but the tall one was obviously older than the other one by at least a few years, likely more.

The taller one gave Flint a respectful nod just as Flint stopped at the top of the stairs, meeting Flint's gaze unflinchingly, and Flint returned the nod with a smile. He tried to meet the shorter one's gaze then and was surprised when the boy quickly ducked to hide under the hat to avoid it, his hands white-knuckled on the hilts of the two short swords he wore. The tall one reached out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder and the little one stepped closer to him, not looking up as he turned towards the taller one slightly.

Flint looked at them a moment longer, wondering what the younger boy was thinking, but then he let himself look at the table and Charles, who was sprawled comfortably in a chair looking as if he had been there a while. He acted like he hadn't noticed Flint yet as he smiled confidently at Quinn and said, "Teach will settle soon enough. He's been pissed at me before and I'm still here aren't I?"

"If you're sure," Quinn said a bit doubtfully, frowning. "Rackham tells me Teach ordered his men to bring you to him even if they had to knock you out and carry you."

Charles snorted, amused. "I've been tied up and hauled to his tent like a pig trussed for slaughter before, Quinn, and all he wanted was to yell at me for not being where he thought I should be. He'll hold a grudge for a while this time because I'm leaving his crew, but he'll get over it. He doesn't really want me to stay on."

Quinn looked skeptical and confused. "Why's he angry about you leaving if he doesn't want you to stay?"

Charles smiled wryly. "Because I was supposed to wait and let him throw me off his ship in some obscure port far from home, not walk away here in Nassau on my own terms with friends to watch my back."

"Sounds like Teach, alright," Flint said, amused as he walked towards the table.

Quinn looked over at Flint with obvious relief. "How are you, James?"

"Quite well, Quartermaster," Flint replied with a smile for Quinn. He looked at Charles, adding with amusement, "Giselle's been worried though, she's still waiting for you to get here."

Charles smiled crookedly. "I'll apologize to her later. I would have been late if I used the doors. Teach has men outside all three waiting to grab me."

Flint laughed, shaking his head slightly as Slade chuckled and said, "'Bout scared Bonny out of his boots when Vane swung in the window."

Bonny was evidently the little one in the hat because he looked over at Charles, scowling. "Sneaky fucker."

"Keeps me alive," Charles said easily, grinning at Bonny.

Bonny just snorted, still scowling as his taller friend patted Bonny's shoulder, smiling disarmingly at Charles. "Don't mind him, Captain. He's just having a bad life."

Bonny scowled and punched the taller young man in the belly. "Shut up, Jack."

"Yes, do be _quiet_ ," Quinn agreed, giving the taller one a quelling look. "He's not Captain _yet_ , Rackham."

Rackham tilted his head and met Quinn's gaze with a withering look. "And can _you_ pay off the debt Kelso saddled us with, Quartermaster, sir? Because I _know_ the men don't have it, and if it's not paid in two weeks Gerritson will put a bounty on her that will have half the ships that sail out of Port Royal hunting us."

Quinn's face fell. "No, I can't," he said quietly with a sigh. He looked at Charles for a moment, then asked, "Can you really do it, son? Do you have that kind of coin?"

Charles dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a leather bag, tossing it over to land on the table in front of Quinn with a quiet almost musical clatter. "Pretty sure that'll do it easy enough."

Quinn looked at Charles for a moment and then reached for the bag, opening it to look inside and then just staring for a moment before he looked back at Charles, eyes a bit wide. "The note is only four hundred pounds. There's likely a _thousand_ in pearls here."

"What we don't _have_ to spend, we won't," Charles said firmly, meeting Quinn's gaze. "We can't get in the wind and after a decent prize until the ship's in shape, though. We'll need rations and shot, and there's two sails that rightly should have been replaced months ago, as well as some of the rigging and who knows what else I haven't seen."

"Do you really think you can do this, son?" Quinn asked quietly, looking intently into Charles' eyes.

"I can and will," Charles replied, meeting Quinn's gaze. "I've spent the last five years learning everything Teach knows, from his informants to his hideouts, and learning all I could from his crew, too. I have an _excellent_ memory and there's nothing on board a ship I don't know how to do." He laughed slightly. "Well, except for the cooking. We're all better off if I leave that to someone else."

Quinn's eyebrows rose a bit and he looked at Charles a moment longer before he looked at Flint. "And you're _sure_ of him, James? Honestly now. I know you like the boy, but he's _very_ young for this."

"Vane's got my complete confidence," Flint said firmly. "If I had to have someone to take over my own crew for me, there is no one else I would trust to do right by them, Quartermaster."

Quinn looked into Flint's eyes a few moments longer and then looked back at Charles, reaching out his hand towards him as he said, "Welcome aboard, Captain."

Charles stared at Quinn as he reached to shake his hand. "Just like that?"

Quinn smiled wryly. "Rackham's right. We're just about out of options, and if James McGraw says you're good enough for _his_ ship, then you're good enough for mine."

Charles looked at Flint, amused and surprised. "McGraw?"

"It was another life," Flint said quietly, giving Charles a wry smile before he looked back at Quinn. "I'll go let Giselle know we're done so she can bring up our meal. I was just in the kitchen and she has definitely outdone herself."

Quinn looked surprised. "You've got her feeding us up here?"

"That was the idea, yes," Flint agreed with a slight laugh, surprised. "Did you make other plans?"

"No, but I thought we'd have to go down to eat," Quinn said, still surprised. "I wasn't aware she served meals up here too."

"She doesn't for just _anyone_ ," Flint said, smiling. "Giselle has served meals up here for Guthrie and Mr. Scott quite often, though, and she doesn't mind doing the same for me on occasion."

Quinn smiled. "Eating now sounds wonderful, then." He looked at Charles. "If that's alright with you, Captain?"

"Very much so, Quartermaster," Charles replied, grinning wide and happy. "I _never_ turn down Giselle's cooking. I'd eat in the privy if she told me too, and be glad she'd saved me a plate."

Quinn laughed. "The food here _is_ quite good, for a fact."

"Always," Charles agreed, then looked at Rackham and Bonny as he asked, "Are you two _ever_ going to sit down?"

Rackham looked surprised. "You'd have us eat with you, Captain? I expected Bonny and I would be sent down to join the others."

"Best to get used to it right off, Rackham," Charles said, smiling. "It's my job to be your Captain, just as it's Quinn's to act as your Quartermaster, but that doesn't make me any better than you, not in my eyes. I don't know what Kelso did, don't really _care_ honestly, but with me as Captain every man on the crew will be fed the same, long as he pulls his weight, including me."

Rackham met Charles' gaze for a moment and then smiled and stepped towards the table to take a seat next to Slade as he said, "I rather like the sound of that."

Bonny sat down on the other side of Rackham at the end of the table, looking at Charles from under the edge of his hat with an unreadable expression, bright blue eye intense and wary. "Kelso kept all th' best for his self, food or spoils. Said it was Captain's right."

Charles snorted. "Teach is the same, but I don't hold with that. We'll share out _everything_ fairly, with the Quartermaster acting as the final arbiter when there's a disagreement."

"Even for spoils?" Quinn asked, surprised. "You'll not be wanting first pick?"

Charles met Quinn's gaze. "I suppose I might find something I like once in a great while, but I've little use for fancy bits and baubles, Quartermaster. My fair share of our profits will be enough, I promise you."

Quinn stared into Charles' eyes a moment and then asked, "If you're not in it for the money or the luxuries that can be won, why _do_ you want to be Captain?"

Charles smirked. "Because I _love_ being a pirate, Quartermaster, but I'm shite at taking orders."

Quinn laughed, surprised but starting to look pleased as he looked over at Flint. "I see why you like him, James."

Flint grinned. "You have no idea as yet, Quartermaster. Give it a week and you'll be thanking your lucky stars you came to me for help."

"I already am," Quinn pointed out, smiling. "We'd have lost the _Ranger_ several times over by now without out you, son."

"Can't let that happen to the best Quartermaster I ever served under, sir," Flint replied easily. "I'll go have one of my men let Giselle know we're ready to eat."

Flint tipped his head respectfully to Quinn and then turned away to walk down the stairs as he heard Rackham ask quietly, "Flint was in the Royal Navy with you, sir?"

"Yes, a long time ago," Quinn replied, sounding amused and a bit fond. "It's none of your concern though, Rackham, and I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut on the matter for a change."

"Of course, sir," Rackham replied.

Flint turned the corner on the stairs so that he could see into the tavern's common room, his eyebrows going up a bit when he saw what was going on and paused to listen.

Gates was blocking the bottom of the stairs with Joshua and Dooley flanking him, the three of them facing Robards, who looked annoyed but was obviously trying to hold on to his temper. "I just want to go see if the boy is up there, Gates," Robards said fairly reasonably. "Cap'n Teach wants me to find him, and I heard he's at that meeting."

"You'll have to wait," Gates replied, quiet but firm. "None of us have seen Vane, like I said, and I'll not have you barging in on _my_ Captain while he's trying to conduct business with Quartermaster Quinn."

Flint continued down the stairs then as he asked, "Robards, why is it every time I see you, you're making a nuisance of yourself?" Robards bristled a bit, annoyed, and Flint met his gaze as he added calmly, "You can go back to Teach and tell him you've found Vane, but you'll not be dragging him off to see the man right now. He's busy talking with his crew."

" _His_ crew?" Robards repeated, surprised and still frowning. "None of my men are up there, Cap'n Flint. I'd know."

Gates stepped aside as Flint reached him, letting Flint take his place at the bottom of the stairs in front of Robards. Flint stopped there, still looking calmly at Robards even though Robards was several inches taller and a good hand wider across the shoulders. "Vane is no longer part of your crew, Robards. He got a better offer."

"A _better offer_?" Robards echoed, looking more shocked.

"If you're just going to repeat what I say, why talk at all?" Flint asked dryly, making Dooley snicker as Gates looked down, trying not to laugh. He looked towards the table where Paxton and Tyson were still sitting. "Paxton, would you let Giselle know we're all here, please? I'm starving."

Paxton stood up, nodding. "Of course, Captain." He turned away and walked quickly towards the kitchen.

Flint looked back at Robards to find the man scowling at him. "Cap'n Teach ain't gonna like this. Not at all. He's gonna want to talk to you."

Flint snorted, amused. "Still not telling me anything I don't already know, Robards. If Teach wants to talk to me, I'm not hard to find. He can get off his arse and come to the tavern just like anyone else. I'll be here for a day or two yet."

"We're waiting on a bit of carpentry work, Captain," Gates said quietly. "Three days."

"Three then," Flint agreed, not even glancing at Gates as he met Robards' angry gaze. "If I'm not here, Giselle will know where to find me."

Robards stared at Flint a moment longer and then turned away to stalk angrily towards the tavern's front door without another word.

Flint looked at Gates, who looked wryly amused as he asked quietly, "Do I want to know what it is you're up to with Vane on Quinn's behalf?"

Flint's lips twitched as he held back a laugh. "Likely not, no."

"Is it worth pissing Teach off, at least?" Gates asked, still amused.

"I think so," Flint replied with a slight smirk. "The fact doing so is quite fun for me is just a bonus." He turned to head back upstairs, pretending not to hear Dooley snickering again.

"Sometimes I really wish you just went whoring when you're bored like _normal_ men, Captain," Gates called after him, sounding amused.

Flint just laughed and continued upstairs into the parlor, where Charles was asking, "What's your usual treatment of slaves?"

"Depends," Quinn replied. "Kelso insisted that we sold any we took, just like the rest of the cargo. It's not something I liked doing, though, I must admit."

"How will the crew react if I put an end to that?" Charles asked, looking serious and intent. "I don't want slaves on board any ship I am Captain of."

Quinn looked surprised. "You want to leave them with the slavers?"

"No," Charles replied firmly, "the moment they come aboard I want to _free_ them."

"Because _you_ were a slave?" Rackham asked suddenly, making everyone look at him in surprise. Rackham smiled wryly at Charles, adding, "Men will talk, Captain, and I often find it prudent to listen. You never know when some bit of gossip will become important."

"I agree, I'm always listening," Charles agreed, then looked back at Quinn. "And I believe that keeping any man in chains who has not earned his fate is _wrong_."

"Not many pirates worry about right and wrong, Captain," Slade said quietly, looking a little surprised.

Charles met Slade's gaze as he said firmly, "I will slit a man's throat without the slightest remorse if I feel it called for, Slade, and I will take everything he owns and sell it to the highest bidder, but I can't abide chaining any man simply because of the color of his skin."

Quinn smiled, looking over at Flint. "I don't need that week, James. Thank you."

Flint grinned, moving towards the far end of the table as he said easily, "You're quite welcome, Quartermaster. I promised to do my best for you and your crew." He settled into the end seat between Quinn and Charles as he added, "I'm quite sure you will return the favor, should my crew and I need your aid."

Quinn grinned too at that. "You'd have to speak with my Captain about that, I'm afraid."

Flint looked at Charles, amused. "Well, Captain Vane? Can I count on you?"

"Depends on what you want," Charles said easily, his blue eyes bright and sparkling above a smirk. "And how much of a profit there is for my crew."

Flint just laughed.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint knew that Teach would show up eventually. He had to, Flint had been too public about daring him for Teach to avoid it.

~*~*~*~

 

Flint was holding a nearly empty mug of rum with a slight smile, settled back in his chair and just watching the other three men at the table talk.

The meal was long over with and cleared away, and both Quinn and Slade had left already, but Flint lingered anyway despite the fact he was no longer needed there. He hadn't really had a chance to just relax and watch Charles talk unless they were in bed, and he was enjoying it too much to leave. He was quite sure Charles would get on the _Ranger_ the next morning to begin getting to know her with at least two friends on board, Rackham and Quinn, and he was glad.

Charles had spent the last two hours or more getting to know his new shipmates, and it was very obvious to Flint that Charles liked them, especially Rackham, who had stayed even after his superiors left. Charles and Rackham seemed to have a similar sense of humor and they got along well, and Flint enjoyed watching them talk to each other. Flint's only real worry about Charles taking on the _Ranger's_ captaincy had been that Charles wouldn't truly be welcomed by his crew because of the circumstances, but Rackham's obvious desire to be friends had set Flint's mind at ease.

Rackham was smart and funny and seemed well-read despite his age, and he was a definite gossip, full of information about the _Ranger's_ crew and happy to share with his new Captain. He obviously liked Charles and enjoyed being the center of his attention, and it had been easy for Charles to keep him talking while they shared a bottle of rum. There had even been a few points in the conversation that Flint could have sworn Rackham was flirting with Charles, who was so completely oblivious to it that Flint had barely been able to keep from laughing.

Bonny was still there too, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Flint with the same mug of rum he'd had all evening, but the boy was so silent he might as well have left. Bonny watched them from under the brim of his battered slouch hat, usually only one brilliant blue eye visible as he listened to the conversation, but his expression never changed. It made Flint wonder what the boy's story was, how he ended up on a pirate crew so young. He had a feeling the kid had been through Hell and come out the other side trusting no one except Rackham, who was obviously very conscious of Bonny's presence and glanced towards him often to check on him.

Charles and Rackham had just finished off their rum when an angry voice bellowed downstairs, "Flint! Call off your damn Chinaman!"

Flint had no trouble recognizing the voice and neither did Charles, who looked at Flint quickly as Flint put down his rum and called back, "Let him pass, Joji! Alone!"

Joji was actually from Japan, but Flint wasn't surprised Teach couldn't tell that by looking at him. Few could, and even fewer recognized the weapons Joji carried as the traditional weapons of a _samurai_ warrior or would have known what a _ronin_ was. Flint only knew because Joji had told him late one night when they were both drunk and homesick, several months before they joined the crew of the _Walrus_. Joji had actually been the one to introduce Flint to Gates, who Joji had served with on a merchant vessel before Gates left it and joined the crew of the _Walrus_.

"This _can't_ go well," Rackham murmured, making Charles look at him. "Don't worry though," Rackham was quick to add. "We've got your back."

Flint took advantage of Charles' distraction to pull his pistol, keeping it in his lap out of sight. He knew that despite everything Teach had done, Charles didn't want him dead for the simple reason that Teach had saved his life, but Flint had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary. Teach was well-known for using the four pistols he carried very freely when he was angered, and Flint wasn't taking any chances. He would much rather make Charles angry at him than watch him die.

Teach stomped up the stairs a moment later, scowling. He looked first at Charles and then at Flint before he caught Rackham's eye and growled angrily, "Give us the room!"

Rackham was obviously worried but he looked at Charles instead of obeying, making Flint smile slightly as Rackham asked, "Will that be all, Captain Vane?"

"Yes, go ahead back to camp," Charles replied calmly, giving Rackham a reassuring smile even though he was feeling a little nervous himself. He didn't want Rackham or Bonny to see it, and he refused to give Teach the satisfaction. "Take Bonny with you."

Rackham nodded and both he and Bonny stood, neither of them looking at Teach as Rackham asked quietly, "Will you be joining us tonight, Captain?"

"No, I've got a room here," Charles said easily. "I'll move my things out to the ship tomorrow morning sometime."

"I'll have a longboat at camp waiting, sir," Rackham promised and then turned to go, giving Teach a respectful nod as he passed him with Bonny moving so close to his heels the boy might as well have been his shadow.

Teach stalked over to the table after they were gone, putting his fists on it to lean across it towards Charles as he glared at Charles and growled quietly, "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, boy?"

"Making my own way, just like you said I'd have to do if I didn't like taking orders from your crew," Charles replied just as quietly, managing to at least _look_ calm despite Teach's anger. "I don't."

Teach glared at Charles a few more moments and then looked at Flint, still leaning on the table. "And I suppose _you're_ who I have to thank for this... insanity? I know their Quartermaster's had the _Ranger_ in your pocket for months now, and the boy doesn't have the coin to pay off that debt it's being said he paid for them. He spends every bit he gets on whores and rum."

"Quinn asked me for my opinion," Flint said calmly. "I gave it. Charles is smart, he knows the business of running a ship _far_ better than Kelso ever did, and he's exceptionally loyal to his crew."

"Which'd be why he's jumping ship on his crew with no warning at all," Teach said scathingly.

"Perhaps I should have said he's loyal to those who _deserve_ it," Flint replied quietly.

Teach bristled angrily as he straightened up. "The fuck are you trying to say, Flint?"

"I think you heard me," Flint said, unable to stop himself.

Teach glared at Flint for a few moments, right hand clenching and unclenching, and Flint was starting to think he'd go for one of his pistols when Teach suddenly looked at Charles again. "If you do this, there's no going back. We're done."

"We've been done since you kicked me out of your cabin," Charles said very quietly, meeting Teach's gaze. "I told you right after that I'd never bend over for you again and I'd be leaving the crew when I found something better. It's not _my_ fault you didn't believe me."

Teach flushed, livid as he growled, "I should have thrown you off the fuckin' ship then."

"If you did, I'd still be here," Charles said quietly, "and I'd still be Captain of the _Ranger_ right now. _Nothing_ I have done here tonight is because of you. You saved my life once, but that was a _long_ time ago and my gratitude only goes so far." He snorted softly. "It shouldn't be a _surprise_ I've left your crew. I _told you_ a dozen times that one day you would look up and I'd be gone. Today is that day."

Teach glared at Charles a moment longer and then looked at Flint. "You better not start spreading shite, Flint, or I'll _know_ who it was talking out of turn."

"And you had best remember who has his back," Flint replied softly, meeting Teach's gaze. "If I hear you've done anything to him _or_ his crew, the whole fucking _island_ will know about you and your cabin boys. Count on it."

Teach stared at Flint as he growled, "No one threatens me and lives to tell the tale."

"I thought not telling tales is the whole point you were trying to make," Flint said quietly, trying hard to keep a firm rein on his temper. "And don't think that killing me would keep your secrets, either. If I die by your hand, I _promise you_ the word will still spread exactly why you wanted to keep me quiet. I am far too smart to make it that easy for you to shut me up."

Teach stared into Flint's eyes. "You'd lose the _Walrus_ if I walk down there and tell your crew you're fucking him. Then it wouldn't matter what you said next. They'd  _all_ believe me, especially with that bullshite about you not touching whores because you're loyal to some witch woman."

"You'd lose your _fleet_ if you did," Charles said then, quiet but sharp. Teach looked at him, surprised, and Charles added, "They know me well enough that they would believe _me_ , too, no matter what lies you tried to come up with. _Everyone_ knows I tell shite like it is even if it gets me a beating, and I know things about you that you can't explain away."

Teach stared at Charles a moment longer and then looked at Flint, eyes still narrow and angry. "Why did you even start this, Flint? I always thought you backed the boy up in those fights trying to stay on my good side."

"I did at first, but then I noticed what he was fighting about and decided I liked his style," Flint replied very quietly, adding a little more firmly, "Now, well… I always protect what's mine."

Teach's eyes widened slightly and he looked at Charles, staring into Charles' eyes asked angrily, "Before or after?"

"After," Charles replied quietly, not needing to ask what Teach meant. Teach had just realized his threat to tell the world Flint was fucking him was true, not just a convenient lie, and surely wanted to know if it started before or after Teach tossed Charles aside. Charles _was_ a little surprised Flint had told Teach about them in such a way he was practically daring Teach to object, but Charles couldn't really find it in himself to get upset by it. Just the opposite, in fact. He didn't need Flint to protect him, to take care of him, but if he was being completely honest with himself he loved knowing Flint was going to do it anyway.

Teach kept staring into Charles' eyes for a short while in silence, then said abruptly, "Don't you ask me for _anything_ , not ever again."

"I wasn't planning to," Charles replied.

Teach looked at Flint. "And you would do well to stay away from me and mine."

Flint snorted. "You have absolutely _nothing_ I want, Teach. As long as you take it like a man, this ends here. You go your way and we will go ours, and we all get to go on with our lives as we see fit."

Teach stared at Flint and moment longer and then abruptly turned to go, walking to the stairs before he stopped, not looking back. "Don't come near my ship or my camp, Charles. If you do, I'll kill you."

"I will avoid your territory just as I expect you and your men to avoid mine," Charles agreed, "but Nassau is my _home_. If we pass on the street I expect you to ignore me, just as I'll do for you."

Teach nodded and continued down the stairs, leaving them alone.

Charles swallowed hard, relieved and honestly a little shocked it went so well. He had expected Teach to be a lot more violent, or try to at least. With Flint there to watch his back, he had known Teach wouldn't be able to give him the beating Teach was sure to think he deserved. That was a large part of why he had felt so safe facing Teach at all. If a fight had begun, Flint would have jumped in instantly, and his men would have been up there within moments, too.

Charles looked at Flint after a few minutes, trying to make light of it as he murmured, "Well, _that_ went well."

Flint chuckled. "Lot better than I expected." He lifted his hand out of his lap to lay his pistol on the table, making Charles' eyes widen slightly in surprise. "I thought I might have to kill him to get you truly free."

Charles stared at Flint. "You were ready to kill him?"

"From the moment I found out how he treated you," Flint admitted softly. "I thought you deserved better long before I loved you."

Charles smiled and was opening his mouth to reply when he heard boots on the stairs and looked towards the sound. Joji stopped at the top of the stairs, looking relieved as he asked, "Is it done, Captain?"

"Yes, it is," Flint replied. "Tell the men to stay well away from Teach's camp, though, and to give his crews a wide berth. He's pissed at me and would like an excuse to start trouble." He looked at Charles, asking more softly, "Can I assume our crews stand together if it comes to a fight?"

"Always," Charles agreed, not even needing to think. "Quinn will go along with it, I think. We could stand against the _Revenge_ crew easy enough, but it would be a different story if the others who look to him joined in."

Flint nodded, giving Charles a crooked smile. "My thoughts too." He looked back towards Joji. "So yes, even with the _Ranger's_ crew on our side, don't piss any of Teach's people off if it can be avoided."

Joji nodded. "I'll pass the word." He hesitated and then asked, "Do you want a few of us to stand guard here tonight?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Flint answered. "Teach and I came to an understanding. He and his men will not be coming here after me."

Joji glanced at Charles and then back at Flint as he said more quietly, "I was thinking more to help you keep him away from _Vane_. Word is Teach wants him dead."

" _Wanted_ him dead," Flint corrected, not at all surprised Joji had heard that. He was fairly sure it had been true until Teach realized Flint and whoever Flint had confided in would retaliate if Teach touched him. The fact Flint hadn't _actually_ confided in anyone that could influence the pirates as Teach feared was quite beside the point. Charles prided himself on never lying, but Flint would do whatever was necessary to protect those he loved. "Like I said, we came to an understanding. As long as we stay out of Teach's territory, he's going to stay out of ours."

Joji smiled. "Glad to hear it, Captain." He looked at Vane, adding, "Congratulations, by the way." He grinned. "Captain Vane."

Charles grinned at that too, he couldn't help it. "Thank you, Joji."

Joji nodded to Charles, then looked back at Flint. "Good night, Captain."

"Good night," Flint replied, smiling.

Joji turned and walked quickly back down the stairs, leaving them alone again.

Flint looked at Charles, smiling as he murmured very softly, "I think it's time for bed." He smirked. " _Captain_."

Charles grinned and said barely loud enough for Flint to hear, "There's a distinct possibility you won't get _any_ sleep tonight."

"I am quite sure I'll find some way to cope," Flint replied, smirking as he stood up. He reached for his pistol and tucked it back into his belt as he headed for the door, not looking back when he heard Charles' chair move and then Charles' light step behind him.

Flint glanced around when he reached the tavern's common room, smiling when he saw his men were already gone and the place was nearly deserted despite the fact it was early yet by Nassau standards. Word had obviously spread that there might be a battle there that night and people had made themselves scarce. Rackham and Bonny were the only ones left, sitting at a table near the back door to the tavern, and Flint was glad they seemed so determined to support Charles as he nodded to them and headed towards the kitchen, where he could see a lamp was still burning.

Charles walked quickly towards Rackham and Bonny's table, a little surprised as he said, "I thought I told you to head back to camp."

"I could not in good conscience leave until I was certain you were alright, Captain," Rackham replied quickly. "We couldn't let Flint's men have _all_ the fun if there was a fight."

Flint paused near the kitchen door, amused as he looked back towards them to listen.

"Jack ain't much with a sword," Bonny added, "but he's a dead shot an' I got _two_ swords so we kinda even out."

Charles gave Rackham and Bonny a surprised, slightly wry smile. "You were going to fight Teach and his men for me? Just the two of you?"

"You're our _Captain_ ," Bonny said, hard and annoyed. "'S our fuckin' _job_."

Charles grinned at Bonny. "What are you so _pissed_ about all the time?"

" _Life_ ," Bonny replied instantly, standing up. He looked at Rackham, swatting his shoulder lightly. "He's _fine_ , Jack. Let's go."

Rackham stood, giving Bonny a bemused look as he murmured, "A _little_ respect?"

Bonny scowled at Rackham, then looked at Charles again as he said grudgingly, "If that's okay with you, Cap'n."

"It is," Charles replied, still amused. "I'll see you both in the morning."

"Of course, Captain," Rackham replied, smiling. "Good night." He reached out to give Bonny a little push to start him moving, and the two of them walked quickly to the nearby door and left.

Charles headed for the stairs chuckling as he shook his head, and Flint grinned as he continued into the kitchen.

Giselle was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, smiling and looking much happier than earlier as she looked up at him and murmured, "Joji told me the danger is done."

"Yes, Teach and I made an agreement," Flint replied softly, walking over to stand by her. "I wanted to make sure you know so you'd stop worrying."

Giselle smiled a little wider. "I will always worry, _cher_ , but for now yes, I feel much better."

"Something else you and I have in common," Flint murmured, smiling, then changed the subject. "I'm sorry we ran off all your custom."

"I am not," Giselle said with a soft laugh. "I plan to enjoy my night off." She smiled, standing as she added, "As does Joji."

Flint laughed and raised his voice a bit, "You don't have to hide from me, Joji."

The kitchen door opened and Joji stepped inside, closing it and smirking at Flint as he said softly, "I was watching the men leave, but I could say the same to you, Captain." Flint's eyebrows rose in surprise and Joji laughed, then looked at Giselle, adding, "Let's go, Giselle. Vane will be waiting for him."

Giselle stared at Joji a moment and then looked at Flint. "You told him?"

Flint shook his head, still surprised, and they both looked back at Joji.

Joji snorted softly, giving Giselle an amused look. "I have known him for nearly as long as I have known _you_. I heard something while they spoke to Teach, and I knew it was true the moment I saw the Captain look at Vane afterwards." He looked at Flint, adding, "Though it _was_ a bit of a surprise."

Flint frowned slightly. "Am I truly that transparent?"

"Only to someone who knows you so well," Joji replied, smiling. "No one else would see it."

"Hopefully not," Flint said quietly, still worried.

"I am _sure_ , James," Joji said more firmly. "I know the risks, I would _warn you_ if there was a problem. No one else was close enough to hear anything, and they would not see in you what I do."

Flint looked at Joji for a moment and then nodded, relieved. Joji would never lie to him, he knew. "Thanks."

Joji nodded, smiling. "Good night, Captain."

"Good night." Flint looked at Giselle as he added, " _Bonne nuit, mon amie_."

"Good night, _cher_ ," Giselle murmured, smiling as she leaned to kiss his cheek, then moved towards Joji and the kitchen door. "Would you bar the back door before you go up? Joji got the front one after Teach left."

"Of course," Flint agreed, watching as Joji opened the door for her and let her go out, then nodded to Flint and followed her, smirking.

Flint waited until he heard the lock on the kitchen door click, then moved to get a candle in a tin holder off of a shelf, lighting it with the lamp on the table. He blew out the lamp and then walked back into the common room with the candle, going to bar the back door as he promised before he headed upstairs to join Charles.

They had some celebrating to do.

 

~ End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There _will_ be more with these two, but this is telling me it's done here. Thank you for reading!


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